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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25597408">1944</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beefmaster/pseuds/Beefmaster'>Beefmaster</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Into The Harryverse [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Ghosts (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>First Kiss, Historical, Humor, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, World War II, but honestly probably less than was period typical</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:55:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,128</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25597408</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beefmaster/pseuds/Beefmaster</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>But we’re dead  now,  so we don’t  have to lie.  And we also don’t have to avoid<br/>talking  about  the nuances  of love and violence  we were born into. How need<br/>and  want  and  touch  and hate bundled  our bones  for kindling. It’s easier now<br/>to feel safe  in my body  because I  don’t have  one. It’s easier now  to admit we<br/>all were just  trying  to stub out a nightmare<br/>-"Our Ghosts Will Smoke Cigarettes Together", Bethany A. Breitland</p><p>Two love stories told over the course of 75 years</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>The Captain (Ghosts TV 2019)/Original Male Character(s), The Captain/Thomas Thorne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Into The Harryverse [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921519</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>94</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Players Are Introduced</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Buttons receive a very special visitor. Thomas is particularly taken by him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This first chapter is very long, but future chapters will likely be shorter. Rated mature for future chapters, tagged Major Character Death because, well, ghosts.</p><p>Beta'ed/Britpicked by the esteemed anactoriatalksback.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Button House, August 4th, 1944</strong>
</p><p>“They’re having a dinner party!” Kitty sing-songs as she scurries into the parlour. “Oh, I’m so excited!”</p><p>Kitty’s piercing voice is enough to rouse Thomas from his thoughts. He turns away from the window to face Kitty and the others.</p><p>“Surely you must be mistaken,” Fanny says, affronted as ever.  “There’s a war on, haven’t you heard?  It wouldn’t be proper.” </p><p>“No! No! I saw it myself, Mrs. Ackworth brought out the formal china.”  </p><p>“The formal china?  You mean to tell me that bumbling oaf Mrs. Ackworth is handling my wedding china? Unacceptable!” Fanny floats off to the dining room, presumably to monitor the perpetually clumsy Mrs. Ackworth.</p><p>“Oh! And I almost forgot the best part!” Kitty exclaims. “Master Edward is coming!”</p><p>“Master Edward?” Thomas parrotts back. If young Edward Button was coming to call, then there was sure to be excitement.</p><p>“I don’t know as I’d likes to sees Master Edward,” Mary says. “That boy behaves in the strangest of ways.”</p><p>“Oh, come off it, Mary,” Humphrey’s head says from his position on the floor.  “You like to watch young Edward as much as the rest of us.”</p><p>“Yes, well,” Mary says.  She doesn’t seem to have much else to say.</p><p>“Who else is coming, Kitty?” Thomas asks.</p><p>“Oh, well, they didn’t say, but the table is set for six, so that means Lord and Lady Button, Master Edward, and, erm-”</p><p>“Three more,” says Robin, counting on his fingers. “Three more for dinner, heheh.”</p><p>“An unholy numbers,” Mary mumbles.</p><p>“Oh! An odd number! That means there will be at LEAST one single guest!” Kitty swishes her skirts back and forth. “Oh, I can hardly wait! What shall I wear?”</p><p>“I’m not sure you have many choices, Kitty,” Thomas says.</p><p>Fanny marches back into the parlour, a sour look on her face.</p><p>“You can’t find good help anywhere these days,” she fumes. “Mrs. Ackworth dropped another of my saucers.”</p><p>“Any more news on the dinner party?” Thomas asks hopefully.</p><p>“Oh, yes. It seems one of the guests will be lodging with us; Mrs. Ackworth is going to set up a room in the north wing.”</p><p>“Oh, capital! Perhaps Master Edward will spend the night as well.” Kitty says.</p><p>“Edward!” Fanny exclaims. “Why that- he- well! I suppose I ought to supervise Mrs Ackworth as she makes up the bed.” She hurries off, mumbling something that sounds like “just like his grandfather.”</p><p> </p><p>Master Edward is the first of the guests to arrive.  He pulls into the drive in a flashy red motorcar, and exits before the footman, Mr. Harding, can open the door for him. He is wearing a pair of glasses with the lenses tinted dark.</p><p>“What that on face?” Robin asks.</p><p>“Well, they’re glasses,” Thomas says, leaning farther out the window in an attempt to see better.</p><p>“Yes, but why dark?”</p><p><a id="return1" name="return1"></a>“That I don’t know.” <sup>[<a href="#note1">1</a>]</sup> Thomas has to admit that the dark glasses make the already handsome Edward even more dashing.</p><p>“Welcome, Master Edward,” Mr. Harding says with a small bow. “Shall I bring in your bags?”</p><p>“No, no bags, I don’t plan on spending the night. I have to see a patient early tomorrow.”</p><p>“Are you sure that’s wise? Forgive my impudence, but you do have a tendency to drink rather heavily when you visit, and I’m not sure driving-”</p><p>“Mr. Harding, please, you worry too much.”</p><p>“Edward? Is that you?” Lady Button calls from the front door.</p><p>“Hello, Mum,” Edward says, approaching the front door with open arms. He wraps Lady Button in a hug.</p><p>“Are you wearing sunglasses?” she asks.</p><p>“Yes, I think they make me look like a <a id="return2" name="return2"></a>fighter pilot, don’t you?”<sup>[<a href="#note2">2</a>]</sup></p><p>“I think they make you look foolish. Never mind that. Come in, come in, your father wants to show you some new contraption he bought.”</p><p> </p><p>The next guests to arrive are the Chetwyndes.</p><p>“Oh bloody hell, it’s the Chetwyndes,” says Humphrey’s head, cradled carefully in his arms.</p><p>“Language!” Fanny says sharply. “Although, I must admit, they are hardly my favourite houseguests.”</p><p>“He’s terribly boring,” whines Kitty.</p><p>“And she’s an unrelenting sycophant,” adds Thomas.</p><p>“No good anecdotes,” Robin says. Everyone else turns to look at him.  “What?”</p><p>“Lady Button, what a pleasure!” Mrs. Chetwynde says with a deep curtsy. “We are so honored to be your humble houseguests.” </p><p>“Lillian, please, call me Margaret,” Lady Button says, eyes darting back and forth. “Where’s Alfred?”</p><p>“Oh, yes! He’s still in the auto.  Trouble with his back, I’m afraid.  Mr. Harding, if you wouldn’t mind?” </p><p>Mr. Harding nods curtly and begins the arduous process of removing Colonel Chetwynde from the car.</p><p>“And where is Lord Button?” Mrs. Chetwynde asks, completely oblivious to her husband, currently struggling to get out of the car.</p><p>“<em> Robert </em>is currently showing our son Edward the new <a id="return3" name="return3"></a>Victrola he bought.”<sup>[<a href="#note3">3</a>]</sup></p><p>“Oh, how charming! I do love technology.”</p><p>“Well, perhaps when Alfred makes it inside we can show it to you.”</p><p>“Oh, splendid!” Mrs. Chetwynde says. With one final tug, Mr. Harding manages to pull Colonel Chetwynde out of the car, only for him to topple face-first into Mr. Partridge, sending them both onto the ground.</p><p> </p><p>The last guest to arrive does so in a smart black motor car. </p><p>“The final guest!” Kitty exclaims. “Who could it be?”</p><p>“Mayhaps it’s a glover, no one in this house has worn proper gloves in a while,” Mary says.</p><p>“Well, I <em> hope </em>it’s an eligible young lady,” Fanny says, “although I’m not sure my grandson should cavort with a woman who drives a motor car.”</p><p>“Maybe it’s bear,” says Robin.</p><p> </p><p>It turns out to be none of those things. When the car door opens, out steps the most gorgeous man Thomas has ever seen. He has a strong nose, piercing eyes, and neat, well-groomed hair, graying at the temples. Oh, and a moustache! Thomas has never before seen the appeal of this modern trend of<a id="return4" name="return4"></a> facial hair,<sup>[<a href="#note4">4</a>]</sup> but now, oh, now he understands.  The man is dressed in a smart military uniform that accentuates both his broad chest and his surprisingly trim waist. <em> Surely, </em> Thomas thinks, <em> that can’t be regulation. </em>For how could those brave soldiers, those dew-eyed young men risking life and limb for Mother England, possibly concentrate when men like this roamed the battlefield.</p><p>“Oh my,” Thomas breathes.</p><p>“Captain!” Lord Button says, hurrying out to meet the strange man. “I’m so glad you could join us.” He raises his hand as if to salute, then thinks better of it and instead extends it to shake.</p><p>“Yes, well, your brother speaks so highly of you and this estate, I could hardly pass up this invitation. I look forward to enjoying some English hospitality,” the Captain says. Lord Button has been shaking his hand for just a moment too long, but he tactfully says nothing.</p><p>“Come in, come in,” Lord Button says, wrapping an overly familiar arm around the Captain’s shoulder. “You must meet my family. And well, the Chetwyndes. Don’t worry about your bags, Mr. Harding will bring them to your room.”</p><p>When the Captain makes his way into the parlour, Thomas can hardly breathe. Well, he can’t breathe at all, actually, but you get the point. To see such beauty so close up is breathtaking, and he can’t help but approach him, standing uncomfortably close.</p><p>“He’s a rather handsome fellow, isn’t he?” says Fanny.</p><p>“I wouldn’t know,” Thomas says crossly, his chest mere inches from the Captains back.</p><p>“Captain, this is my wife, Lady Button,” Lord Button says, gesturing grandly to her.</p><p>“Please, call me Margaret, no need to stand on ceremony here,” she says.</p><p>“How do you do,” the Captain says, bowing ever so slightly toward her.</p><p>“And this is our very own Colonel Chetwynde!” Lord Button says.</p><p>Immediately, the Captain goes rigid.</p><p>“Colonel,” he says with a salute. Once again, Lord Button makes an awkward attempt at a salute before shoving his hand firmly in his pocket.</p><p>“Captain, at ease,” says Colonel Chetwynde. “Always a pleasure to see another brother at arms. This is my wife, Mrs. Chetwynde.”</p><p>“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Mrs. Chetwynde says, curtsying deeply and extending her arm. Kitty stands behind her, copying the movement.</p><p>“The pleasure is mine, I’m sure.” The Captain kisses Mrs. Chetwynde’ hand, and Kitty squeals as if her own hand has been kissed.</p><p>“And over there at the piano is my son Edward,” Lord Button says. “Edward!”</p><p>Up until now, Edward has ignored his parents and their guests in favor of vaguely plucking at the piano keys. But when his father calls his name, he swivels around, throwing his legs over the piano bench and making eye contact for the first time with the Captain.</p><p>When he does so, Thomas feels as though he could cry. Because from the moment Edward sees the Captain, Thomas knows he is seeing the exact same thing that Thomas saw. Edward’s eyes roam up and down the Captain’s body.</p><p>“Ooh,” Robin says. “Edward like war man.” </p><p>“No he does not!” Thomas says hotly.</p><p>“Captain, what a pleasure,” Edward says in a hushed, sultry tone. He moves toward the Captain in a way that can best be described as sauntering. </p><p>“Oh! The Captain likes Edward as well!” Kitty says delightedly.</p><p>“No he doesn’t!” Thomas says, but a cursory glance at the Captain’s face reveals otherwise. His eyes are wide and he’s breathing shallowly. When Edward extends his hand to shake, the Captain grips it with both hands, shaking it slowly.</p><p>“A pleasure indeed,” the Captain says, a bit too quietly. After a moment he clears his throat, and drops Edward’s hands like he’s been burned. “Well!” he says brightly. “Margaret, you have a lovely home!”</p><p>“Why, thank you, Captain.  Would you like anything to drink? A Cabernet? Sherry?”</p><p>“Yes, yes I very much would,” the Captain says, turning resolutely away from Edward. </p><p>“It seems Edward be having a bit of lust, he is,” Mary says with a knowing look.</p><p>“<em> Is </em>having,” Thomas corrects. “And no! No he’s not! Besides, Edward’s far too young for him. He’s only 26, surely the Captain would prefer someone more… experienced in the ways of love.”</p><p>“Master Edward is nothing if not experienced,” Humphrey’s head says. He’s currently lying on the floor facing the credenza. “Say, would somebody mind picking me up? Or at least turning me around?”</p><p>But the ghosts ignore him in favor of following the humans into the dining room, where dinner is about to be served. The Captain has been placed at the foot of the table, and Edward quickly grabs the seat next to him. Kitty confidently seats herself on the other side of the Captain, until Mrs. Chetwynde takes her seat in the same chair, sending Kitty into a coughing fit.</p><p>“You’re in for a treat,” Edward says, leaning slightly too close to the Captain. “Our cook, Mrs. Partridge, is a real talent. Although I suppose any meal would sound good to you after all those army rations.”</p><p>“Yes, quite right,” the Captain says.</p><p>“His feet go bouncy-bouncy!” Robin calls from under the table.</p><p>“Robin! Get out from there at once!” Fanny calls. She hurries into the dining room behind Mrs. Ackworth, supervising her serving of the food. “No, you idiot, don’t put the potatoes by Colonel Chetwynde!  Nobody else will get any!”</p><p>“I hope you don’t mind chicken,” Lady Button says. “Normally, we would serve red meat to a distinguished guest such as yourself, but well, there’s a war on!” </p><p>“Really, I’m sure anything you serve will be delicious. I’m hardly picky. As Edward so astutely pointed out, it hasn’t exactly been Cordon Bleu for this chap.”</p><p>“Yes, yes, of course! The military!” Mrs. Chetwynde says.  Everyone waits for her to continue, but it seems she’s done.</p><p>“And besides, meat of any sort is much better fare than most of the country gets, I’m quite sure,” the Captain says off-handedly. The table is quiet. </p><p>“This be awkward,” Mary says.</p><p>“You must think us quite silly,” says Lord Button, “entertaining dinner guests, drinking wine, what with the war rations-”</p><p>“Oh, really, I meant no offense-”</p><p>“But we Buttons have made sacrifices as well. As you know, my younger brother James is in the Army, and our oldest son Clarence is actually a midshipman in the Navy. It’s been terribly vexing to have them both so far from home.”</p><p>“Yes, of course, I hardly meant to imply otherwise,” the Captain says quickly. “You must be very proud of your son.”</p><p>“Our daughter is married to an economist,” Mrs. Chetwynde interjects. All of the ghosts groan aloud. </p><p>“Yes, well, that’s a very respectable profession,” the Captain says graciously. He turns to Edward. “And what about you? What do you do?”</p><p>“I’m too essential to leave and fight the Jerrys, if that’s what you’re asking,” Edward says, leaning back in his chair. “I’m a doctor.”</p><p>“He hardly practices,” Lady Button says.</p><p>“When you’re as good as I am, you don’t need to practice,” Edward says with a smirk. “I kid, of course. I have a practice in <a id="return5" name="return5"></a>Guildford,<sup>[<a href="#note5">5</a>]</sup> but I managed to escape on occasion to visit my dear old mum and dad.”</p><p>“That’s quite impressive,” The Captain says.</p><p>“Their feet are touching!” Robin shouts from under the table.</p><p>“Robin! What did I say!”</p><p>“Sorry.”</p><p>Thomas is seething at this point. How could this strong, noble man, this modern-day Mark Antony, this <a id="return6" name="return6"></a>Adonis<sup>[<a href="#note6">6</a>]</sup> in a wool uniform, possibly be enchanted by <em> Edward </em>? Edward, the useless dandy who barely graduated from Cambridge, who Thomas hasn’t seen even open a book since the age of 16, who would rather listen to Jazz programs on the radio and bed strange men than pursue any sort of intellectual, well, pursuit? </p><p> </p><p>“So, I must ask,” Edward says, leaning conspiratorially toward the Captain, “why are you here?” The dinner is nearing its end, and they’re both a couple drinks deep at this point. Nobody else is listening to them, instead seemingly enraptured by Colonel Chetwynde’s story about his trip to <a id="return7" name="return7"></a>Worplesdon<sup>[<a href="#note7">7</a>]</sup> to buy rat traps.</p><p>“Well, your uncle is a good friend of mine, and he suggested I might enjoy the company of-”</p><p>“No, no, no, why are you <em> here </em>? In England? Instead of, you know, fighting Nazis.”</p><p>The Captain clears his throat, plays with his collar.</p><p>“Well, you see, I’m on a medical leave. I- well, I broke my leg, quite severely, several fractures, and they thought it best I be sent home to heal. Admittedly, I was of little help to the war effort in my sorry state. I’m quite better though, now, I assure you, and hopefully, I’ll be deployed again shortly.”</p><p>“Ah, wounded in action,” Edward says. At this point, he is rubbing the toe of his shoe against the back of the Captain’s ankle. Not that Thomas looked. </p><p>“Yes, well, it’s not quite as glamorous as it sounds.”</p><p>“How did you do it? Break your leg, I mean?”</p><p>“I fell,” the Captain says shortly. </p><p>“From what?” Lady Button asks.  It seems that the rest of the table’s attention has turned to the Captain.</p><p>“A tank,” The Captain says quietly.</p><p>“A tank!” Mrs. Chetwynde exclaims. “How awful!”</p><p>“Yes, yes, it was quite unpleasant.” The Captain’s face is the most brilliant shade of red. Unsurprisingly, it suits him. </p><p>“What’s a tank?” Kitty asks, but none of the ghosts know.</p><p>“Did it hurt?” Colonel Chetwynde asks.</p><p>“Of course it hurt!” Lady Button exclaims. “Sorry, that was- so sorry Colonel.”</p><p>“Yes, well, I was lucky to have only broken my leg. I actually landed head first.” </p><p>Thomas gasps at that. His head? His beautiful, perfect head? Hurting his leg was one thing, legs can heal (or at least, they seem to be able to heal these days), but his head? Oh, how could the Captain be so careless! What if he had died on the continent, before Thomas had ever gotten a chance to lay eyes on him? Oh, what sweet torment, to lose your greatest love and to never even know. </p><p>“You poor thing,” Lady Button says. “You’re very lucky indeed, not to have suffered any sort of brain injury.”</p><p>“Yes, and very lucky to have been allowed to recover here at home. Army hospitals are nasty places, so I’ve heard,” Lord Button says.</p><p>“So you’ve <em> heard </em>,” says Colonel Chetwynde, derisively. “Why, I remember in 1916, during the <a id="return8" name="return8"></a>Easter Rising,<sup>[<a href="#note8">8</a>]</sup> I was nearly struck down with a bad case of the <a id="return9" name="return9"></a>grippe.<sup>[<a href="#note9">9</a>]</sup> I went through so many handkerchiefs I nearly bankrupted the army. I remember-”</p><p>“Captain, if you’re ever in need of any additional medical assistance, feel free to give me a ring,” Edward says, reaching into his breast pocket for his prescription pad. He next pulls out a pen, removing the cap with his teeth. “Here, let me write down my home number.”</p><p>“Edward,” Lady Button says warningly. Thomas has long suspected that Lady Button knows about Edward’s proclivities. She seems to tolerate it, as long as Edward remains discreet. Right now, Edward is not being discreet.</p><p>“How terribly vulgar, to make one’s affections known so publicly,” Thomas says. Robin rolls his eyes.</p><p>“Sorry Mother, please excuse my terrible table manners.” Edward slips the folded up piece of paper to the Captain. “Just wanted to make sure our Captain here gets the best medical attention.”</p><p>The Captain takes the note gingerly, running his finger along the folded edge before putting it in his own breast pocket. </p><p>“Thank you,” he says demurely. </p><p>“Is anyone up for a game of Bridge?” Mrs. Chetwynde asks brightly.</p><p>“Oh! Bridge!” Kitty squeals.  <a id="return10" name="return10"></a>“It’s like Whist with more rules!”<sup>[<a href="#note10">10</a>]</sup></p><p>“Lillian, Bridge is a four person game. Perhaps we should play something else?”</p><p>“Oh, yes, I suppose so,” Mrs. Chetwynde pouts.</p><p>“Please, don’t stop on my account,” the Captain says. “I was never a good Bridge player, I pity whoever ended up my partner. Besides,” the Captain lightly touches Edward’s forearm, and then quickly removes it, as if burned. “Besides, I should so like to hear Edward play. I saw you seated there when I came in, and it’s been so long since I heard live music.”</p><p>“I would be delighted,” Edward says, smirking. If Thomas had a corporal form, he would punch him. “Shall we retire to the parlour?”</p><p>Lord and Lady Button and the Chetwyndes head to the upstairs drawing room, and most of the ghosts join them, excited to watch the Bridge. Thomas hangs back, following Edward and the Captain into the downstairs parlour.</p><p>“Thomas? Is that you?” Humphrey’s head asks.</p><p>“Shh!” Thomas gently rolls him into the next room.</p><p>“I must apologize in advance, I’m hardly a virtuoso,” Edward says as he heads toward the bar cart.</p><p>Thomas snorts. “You can say that again.”</p><p>“Port?” Edward asks, holding up the bottle.</p><p>“Yes, yes, if you don’t mind.” The Captain pulls nervously at his tie. “And I’m sure you’re excellent.  At the piano I mean.”</p><p>“You’ll have to judge for yourself.” Edward hands the Captain his glass, and sits on the piano bench. He pats the seat next to him.</p><p>“Trollop,” Thomas hisses.</p><p>The Captain takes a large gulp of port, and sits next to Edward. Edward begins to play “Let’s Do It.” Thomas recognizes it from Edward’s Cole Porter songbook he got for Christmas a few years ago. <em> A rather cheeky choice, </em> Thomas thinks. <em> Is subtlety a dead art? </em>He climbs onto the piano to get a better view.</p><p>“I know you think we’re frivolous people,” Edward says.</p><p>“Oh, no, really, I didn’t mean anything by that. I don’t-”</p><p>“You’re right, we are. My father talks about our big sacrifices, but let’s face it, my brother is an officer stationed in  <a id="return11" name="return11"></a>Iceland.<sup>[<a href="#note11">11</a>]</sup>  He isn’t likely to see much action anytime soon. And after my studies ended, my father bankrolled my practice so I wouldn’t be drafted. And as for the chicken, well, it does pay to live in the country sometimes.”</p><p>Thomas seethes. This uncharacteristic vulnerability is surely part of Edward’s attempt at seduction. Thomas doubts Edward cares about the war effort anymore than he cares to learn to play the piano properly.</p><p>“Edward, please, I understand more than most that war isn’t for everyone. You don’t have to prove anything to me.”</p><p>Edward smiles a private smile, eyes focused on the keys.</p><p>“<em> People say in Boston even beans do it </em> ,” Edward sings, “ <em> Let’s do it, let’s fall in love. </em>”</p><p>“I must admit, I never really much went in for Jazz.”</p><p>Edward jerks upright. “You never- by God, man, it’s 1944. What do you mean you never much went in for Jazz? Not even in your youth?”</p><p>The Captain laughs. “I’m not that old. No, I was always more a fan of Classical. And of course, <a id="return12" name="return12"></a>Gilbert and Sullivan.”<sup>[<a href="#note12">12</a>]</sup> </p><p>“Gilbert and Sullivan!” Edward laughs. He picks out the opening bars to “Three Little Maids.”</p><p>“Alright, come on now, don’t make fun,” the Captain says. He reaches out, grabbing Edward by the wrist.</p><p>All three of them inhale at once. Slowly, Edward turns his hand, so that the Captain’s hand rests in his palm.</p><p>“Captain,” he breathes, “I hope I haven’t made you uneasy.”</p><p>“Nonsense. Edward, I’ve been in Surrey for months now. Your reputation has hardly escaped me.”</p><p>Edward laughs lightly. “Oh? Is that why you came to dinner this evening?” </p><p>The Captain blushes. “It’s not why I came. But, well, now that I’m here, I would be lying if I said I didn’t hope-”</p><p><a id="return13" name="return13"></a>Edward wraps his hand lightly around the Captain’s tie.<sup>[<a href="#note13">13</a>]</sup></p><p>“Hope?”</p><p>“Yes,” the Captain breathes, and before Thomas can turn away, Edward pulls the Captain forward to kiss him on the mouth. </p><p>The Captain brings his hands up to cradle the back of Edward’s head and Thomas feels a lump arise in his throat. Edward moans into the Captain’s mouth and Thomas starts to cry. Edward moves a hand to the Captain’s thigh and Thomas throws himself to the ground.</p><p>“No!” he cries. He cannot bear to watch, but he cannot bear to look away.</p><p>Eventually, Edward pushes the Captain away. </p><p>“Wait, wait,” he pants.</p><p>“Of course, quite, we can’t possibly, it wouldn’t be right.”</p><p>“No, we should- my room.” </p><p>The Captain nods enthusiastically. “Yes, yes.”</p><p>“Follow me.” Edward grabs the Captain by the hand, leading him up the stairs to where his parents and the Chetwynde are still playing Bridge. Thomas follows them up. </p><p>“Would you mind giving me a little lift?” Humphrey’s head asks, but Thomas ignores him.</p><p>“Tell them you’re ready for bed,” Edward says.</p><p>“But it’s only 2100 hours,” the Captain responds.</p><p>“I don’t know, make something up.”</p><p>Edward lets go of the Captain’s hand just before they enter the drawing room.</p><p>“I’m afraid I must retire, I’ve had quite a long day,” the Captain announces, bouncing on his toes. “It was a pleasure meeting all of you,” he adds quickly.</p><p>“A pleasure meeting you as well,” Kitty says.</p><p>“Oh!” says Lady Button, surprised. “Well, allow me to show you to your room.”</p><p>“No need!” Edward says. “I’ll show him.”</p><p>“Are you spending the night as well?” Lord Button asks.</p><p>“Yes, well, you know, I’ve had a bit too much to drink. Wouldn’t be safe to drive and all that.”</p><p>Lady Button breathes in sharply through her nose. “Alright, well then, sleep well, I suppose.”</p><p>“It was such a pleasure to make your acquaintance-” Mrs. Chetwynde begins, but Edward and the Captain have already rushed off to the Captain’s room.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Very excited to have joined the Ghosts fandom! You can find me on Tumblr at Ladiesloveduranduran. My office hours are Monday and Thursday 1pm to 4:30 pm.</p><p>Notes:<br/><a id="note1" name="note1"></a><sup>1</sup> Sunglasses first became widespread in the 1920s, hence why none of the ghosts know what they are. <sup>[<a href="#return1">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note2" name="note2"></a><sup>2</sup> Aviator sunglasses, which is what I imagine Edward wearing, were invented for the American military in 1935, and weren't available commercially until after WWII. I imagine Edward got his as a gift from a past lover.  <sup>[<a href="#return2">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note3" name="note3"></a><sup>3</sup> Record players, such as the Victrola, were being mass produced at this point, although the new-fangled radio was far more popular. <sup>[<a href="#return3">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note4" name="note4"></a><sup>4</sup>Interestingly, while most Regency era men were clean shaven, some of the few British men who sported facial hair at this time were cavalrymen, so Thomas would likely recognize a mustache as an inherently military style.<sup>[<a href="#return4">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note5" name="note5"></a><sup>5</sup> A town in Surrey, not far from where Ghosts is actually filmed. <sup>[<a href="#return5">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note6" name="note6"></a><sup>6</sup>Greek god of beauty and desire, Aphrodite's mortal lover. Modern readers may remember him best from Charlie Sheen's 2011 claim that he had "Adonis DNA."<sup>[<a href="#return6">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note7" name="note7"></a><sup>7</sup> Another town in Surrey. <sup>[<a href="#return7">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note8" name="note8"></a><sup>8</sup> A 1916 armed insurrection in Ireland, marking the beginning of the modern Irish fight for freedom. Feel free to draw your own conclusions, but history generally remembers the English as the "bad guys" of this particular conflict. <sup>[<a href="#return8">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note9" name="note9"></a><sup>9</sup> An old-fashioned term for the flu. Since the Easter Rising only lasted six days, Colonel Chetwynde was likely sick for the entire rebellion. <sup>[<a href="#return9">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note10" name="note10"></a><sup>10</sup> That's what Bridge is! Whist was a very popular card game in the 18th century, and as a Georgian lady of some status, Kitty would likely have been a fan. Bridge was a popular 20th century update, with more rules and four players. <sup>[<a href="#return10">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note11" name="note11"></a><sup>11</sup> While officially neutral throughout the war, Iceland was occupied by the British, and then the Americans, in WWII. While many Icelandic vessels were destroyed by German U-boats, it was probably a much quieter post than what the Captain experienced. The greatest legacy of the British occupation of Iceland were all the fatherless children British servicemen left behind. <sup>[<a href="#return11">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note12" name="note12"></a><sup>12</sup>Victorian opera writers who wrote <i>Pirates of Penzance</i>, the source of the Captain's favorite song, "Major General's Song," as well as <i>The Mikado</i>, the source of "Three Little Maids." <sup>[<a href="#return12">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note13" name="note13"></a><sup>13</sup> This scene is loosely based on one of my favorite Silicon Valley fics, Messages from the Unseen World" by doctorcolubra. <sup>[<a href="#return13">return to text</a>]</sup></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Rising Action</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Edward and the Captain get to know each other more intimately.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter 2 is up, now with ANNOTATIONS! If you haven't yet, go back to chapter 1 to read the annotations I added to that.</p><p>This work is completely unbeta'ed due to my own impatience, so read at your own risk.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Wait for me!” Kitty cries. She hops up from her seat and chases after Edward, the Captain, and of course, Thomas. Robin and Mary follow quickly behind her. Fanny stays behind, pretending to be still engrossed in the Bridge game.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here we are,” Edward says grandly as he opens the door to the Captain’s room. “Your quarters.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, well, everything seems to be ship-shape in here.” The Captain paces about the room, suddenly shy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well goes on then, give him a kiss!” Mary says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shall we, ahem, shall we…” the Captain trails off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward reaches out and grabs the Captain by the hand. “Come with me, I’ve got some things in my room.” Edward leads the Captain (and unbeknownst to him, the ghosts) down the hallway to his childhood bedroom. He takes off his jacket, draping it casually over a chair. He then kicks off his shoes and flops on the bed. The Captain remains in the doorway, looking around the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see you have quite the fondness for Westerns,” the Captain notes. And sensibly so: there are posters for <a id="return1" name="return1"></a></span>
  <em>
    <span>Cimarron </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Billy the Kid </span>
  </em>
  <span><sup>[<a href="#note1">1</a>]</sup> on the wall, a small copper cowboy on the nightstand, and a pair of child’s cowboy boots on the dresser. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Of course a philistine like Edward would like those unwashed American ruffians, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Thomas thinks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward blushes. “I haven’t exactly updated the decor recently. And besides, can you imagine anyone more dashing than <a id="return2" name="return2"></a>John Wayne?” <sup>[<a href="#note2">2</a>]</sup></span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He certainly sounds dashing,” Kitty says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward pats the spot beside him on the bed. “Come on, join me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Captain awkwardly makes his way over to the bed. He carefully removes his shoes and then lays down beside Edward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said you had something?” The Captain asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yes! I always keep supplies stashed away.” Edward reaches over and pulls out a small cardboard package and a tube from his nightstand. <a id="return3" name="return3"></a>“Rubbers and some K-Y!” He shakes the tube. “It pays to be a doctor sometimes.” <sup>[<a href="#note3">3</a>]</sup></span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thomas gasps in horror. “Disgusting! How can he be so- so- so vulgar to a gentleman!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heh, you sound like Fanny,” Robin says mockingly. Mary and Kitty laugh in agreement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Captain’s cheeks color. “Oh. Well, you know what they say, <a id="return4" name="return4"></a>VD is the fighting chap’s greatest enemy.” <sup>[<a href="#note4">4</a>]</sup></span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward seems to sense the Captain’s discomfort, because he puts the rubbers and lube back on the nightstand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, we don’t need to use them right away. Or at all, if you like. Really, I think we ought to start right here.” He leans over the Captain, cupping his jaw, and kisses him soundly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kitty gasps. “Oh, how romantic!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Captain brings his hand up to caress the back of Edward’s hand. He makes a soft keening sound in the back of his throat as Edward deepens the kiss. It’s not long before the kiss becomes less romantic and more desperate. Edward paws at the Captain’s chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take this off,” he gasps, attempting to undo the buttons on the Captain’s jacket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Captain grasps Edward’s wrist, still him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Most men rather like my uniform,” the Captain says as he sits up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thomas feels a heat at the back of his neck. So far, the Captain has been a relatively passive participant in this seduction; it does something to Thomas to watch him actually flirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t get me wrong, you look proper gorgeous,” Edward says, undoing his own cuffs. They are both on their knees, frantically undressing. “But I thought you might want to be a bit more comfortable as you journey into the fray.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, so you do like a man in uniform,” the Captain says, as he struggles to undo his <a id="return5" name="return5"></a>Sam Browne belt.<sup>[<a href="#note5">5</a>]</sup> His hands are shaking with excitement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who hasn’t had a schoolboy fantasy about a handsome officer whisking them off their feet? All you need is a <a id="return6" name="return6"></a>swagger stick<sup>[<a href="#note6">6</a>]</sup> to make the image complete.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Captain pauses untying his tie. He has already removed his jacket, and Thomas can begin to see the muscles of his back through his shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a swagger stick in my bags,” the Captain says. “Should I… go get it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my,” Edward says. He grabs the Captain’s tie and pulls him forward, kissing him firmly on the lips. He pulls off, but holds the Captain close, their noses touching. “Don’t get it now, but bring it down tomorrow at breakfast. I want to see you with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Captain nods heavily, eyes wide. “Very good then.” The Captain divests himself of his tie, and Edward, having already removed his own shirt and undershirt, begins to work on the Captain’s buttons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooh.” Kitty sits on the edge of the bed, to bring herself closer to the action. “Is this how babies are made?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Kitty,” the other ghosts say in unison. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, right,” Kitty says, nodding sagely, “I’ve heard it’s something to do with figs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thomas,” Mary asks, “Be you crying?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin and Kitty turn to look at Thomas, who is, in fact, </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>crying. He is simply on the verge of tears. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not that a simple mind such as Mary’s could possibly comprehend the difference, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks sourly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” he says crossly. “I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thomas looks back to the Captain, whose torso is completely bare. Just as he imagined, his back is strong and broad, and covered in a wash of moles, as beautiful as the stars that constellate the sky. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Like Atlas, holding the world on his shoulders</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Thomas thinks, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so long has he carried the weight of his own misfortunes.</span>
  </em>
  <span> What misfortunes the Captain might have suffered in his life, Thomas couldn’t exactly say. Well, except for shattering his leg and being sent home on a medical discharge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He shouldn’t kneel like that, not with his healing leg,” Thomas says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if on cue, Edward says “Here, Captain, on your back, can’t have you hurting your knees.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Thomas says, “I thought of it first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Captain lays down, and pulls Edward on top of him, so he straddles the Captain’s thighs. He pulls Edward down into another kiss. Edward rocks forward, grinding into the Captain, spurred on by the Captain’s hand on his arse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Surely this is how you make a baby,” Kitty says seriously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No Kitty,” Mary and Robin say, but Thomas is a million miles away. Well, not physically. Physically, Thomas is in the room, watching his truest love, his heart, paw unceremoniously at the backside of a man who once described the work of Beethoven as “a bit boring.” Beethoven! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, it’s all too much for Thomas. He flees the room in tears, in a manner he imagines is quite subtle. He runs all the way to the library, where he can fling himself onto the window seat and cry in peace. He sits there for hours listening as the Chetwyndes say their goodbyes, as Mrs. Ackworth clears the glasses from the parlour and drawing room, as a particularly loud shout can be heard from Edward’s room. Eventually the house is quiet. Even the other ghosts have gone off to bed, or wherever they go at night. All Thomas can hear is the sound of his own sighing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thomas stays in his sighing place a bit longer, to make sure everyone was really asleep. Around three in the morning, after Fanny’s nightly fall, he slips back into Edward’s room, only to see that the Captain has left, no doubt kicked out by Edward to avoid suspicion. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What cowardice, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Thomas thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Were I to bed a man so lovely, ‘twould be better to risk death than spend a moment apart. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Of course, death seems less of a sacrifice to a ghost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thomas slips quietly down the hall to the Captain’s room. The Captain sleeps soundly, lying on his back. Thomas lies next to him on his side, propped up on his elbow. The Captain looks particularly soft as he sleeps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thomas pretends for a moment that this is real. That he and the Captain have spent the evening together, wrapped in each other’s arms. He pictures the way the Captain looked at Edward, and imagines what it would feel like to have the Captain look at him that way, to have the Captain look at him at all. He imagines what it would be like to run his fingers along the Captain’s jawline, reciting poetry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Poetry! Yes! Thomas can still recite poetry! Thomas softly recites:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The fountains mingle with the river,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the rivers with the ocean,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The winds of heaven mix for ever</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a sweet emotion;</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing in the world is single;</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All things by a law divine</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In one spirit meet and mingle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><a id="return7" name="return7"></a>Why not I with thine?” <sup>[<a href="#note7">7</a>]</sup></span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Captain stirs slightly. Thomas kisses the Captain softly on the cheek. It doesn’t connect, of course, but the itchy feeling of their flesh meeting and mingling is the next best thing. Thomas flops down next to the Captain and closes his eyes. He can’t know for sure, but he imagines this is what it feels like to be in love.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Don't know about y'all, but I would die for Kitty.</p><p>Thank you for coming! As always, I'm on Tumblr, Discord, and Zoloft. I'm Ladiesloveduranduran on Tumblr and Discord, and a lot more well-adjusted on Zoloft.</p><p>Notes:<br/><a id="note1" name="note1"></a><sup>1</sup> Popular American Westerns when Edward was 12-13. <sup>[<a href="#return1">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note2" name="note2"></a><sup>2</sup> While John Wayne was acting in the 30s, he didn't become a big star until the 40s. It's very unlikely that John Wayne was a childhood crush, and far more likely a more recent infatuation of Edward's.<br/><sup>[<a href="#return2">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note3" name="note3"></a><sup>3</sup> Both condoms and lube were commercially available in the 1940s. Condoms came in metal tins in the 30s, but during the war they were packaged in cardboard due to metal shortages. K-Y Jelly was initially marketed as a surgical aid, but quickly became popular as a personal lubricant. In the 1940s, a non-sterile version intended for "personal use" was available, but it was prescription only. As a doctor, Edward would have had no trouble getting his hands on it. <sup>[<a href="#return3">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note4" name="note4"></a><sup>4</sup> STIs were a huge problem during the World Wars. In 1944, veneral disease incapacitated 606 American servicemen a day! <sup>[<a href="#return4">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note5" name="note5"></a><sup>5</sup> The over-shoulder belt the Captain wears. Originally worn by General Sam Browne in the mid 19th century to help him stabilize his scabbard after losing his left arm. The Sam Browne belt became part of the British officers uniform in the Second Boer War. It’s dropped in popularity since then, but it’s still worn as part of certain uniforms for high-ranking officers in the UK. Say what you want about the British Army (and there’s a lot to say) but they sure do know how to put together a sexy uniform. <sup>[<a href="#return5">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note6" name="note6"></a><sup>6</sup> The little stick the Captain carries. Not an official part of the uniform, but it was very popular during the World Wars with officers. It’s not a practical accessory, used more for gesturing purposes and as a symbol of authority. <sup>[<a href="#return6">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note7" name="note7"></a><sup>7</sup> Love's Philosophy, Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1819. tHere has to be at least ONE Romantic poet Thomas doesn’t hate. <sup>[<a href="#return7">return to text</a>]</sup></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chekhov's Gun</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The gun goes off, and there are casualties.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Much thanks to the inimitable anactoriatalksback/itsevidentvery for beta'ing/britpicking. If it weren't for her, I wouldn't even know what the UK was.</p>
<p>A draft of the full fic actually exists now, so hopefully there won't be too long between updates going forward!</p>
<p>Unfortunately, there are less annotations this update, but if anything is confusing, just let me know and I can add more annotations to explain. Maybe I'll annotate every single word in this fic and give the etymology. You can't stop me.*</p>
<p>*But Ao3's character limit on end notes can</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The Captain arises early the next morning, disturbing Thomas’ slumber. Well, not slumber exactly, but whatever it is ghosts do when they close their eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come back to bed, love,” he murmurs sleepily, but of course the Captain can’t hear him. The Captain begins to strip, and Thomas, like a gentleman, averts his eyes. Mostly. He peeks briefly. Well, he peeks for a while. Okay, he doesn’t so much “peek” as stare brazenly at the Captain through spread fingers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good morning </span>
  <em>
    <span>sir</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Thomas says, raising his eyebrows.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aah,” the Captain gasps suddenly, head flying to his forehead. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A hangover, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Thomas surmises, </span>
  <em>
    <span>probably not used to drinking the way Edward does. </span>
  </em>
  <span>When the Captain slips on his robe and heads out, Thomas follows him. Kitty passes them in the hall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good morning Thomas!” she calls out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good morning,” he replies sheepishly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good morning Captain!” says Edward, exiting the toilet. He’s fresh from the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist. “Don’t worry, still plenty of hot water left,” he says with a wink.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, thank you,” the Captain says, blushing, scurrying off to the toilet. Thomas considers following him, but Kitty addresses him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You missed an awfully good show last night!” Kitty gushes. “I haven’t seen anything like it in ages.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, sorry to have missed it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, no matter. Come down, <a id="return1" name="return1"></a>Robin is going to explain how the wheel was invented!”<sup>[<a href="#note1">1</a>]</sup></span></p>
<p>Kitty turns and makes her way downstairs. Thomas dutifully follows.</p>
<p>
  <span>After his shower, the Captain joins the Button family at the breakfast table. Thomas tries desperately to come up with an excuse to leave Robin’s talk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stone real hard to push, go eeeeeeh, eeeeeeeeeh, no good. First we try animal blood, to make slide, but no work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really, Robin, I’ve had enough of this,” Fanny says. She wipes imaginary crumbs off her dress as she stands up. “I have guests! I must go entertain.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I shall join you, Fanny,” Thomas says quickly. “I should like to see what Mrs. Partridge is serving for breakfast.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The answer is porridge, but Thomas doesn’t care. What he cares about is the Captain, who, as promised, is once again dressed in full uniform, this time carrying his swagger stick. While Thomas hates to agree with Edward, he does have to admit that the swagger stick adds a certain something to the Captain’s look. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How are you this morning, Captain?” Lord Button asks, looking up from his newspaper.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To be perfectly frank, I have a bally awful headache,” the Captain says. “It came on quite suddenly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Could be a migraine,” Lord Button suggests. “Perhaps our dear Edward can take a look at you after breakfast.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d be happy to take a look,” Edward says innocently. Thomas scoffs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Captain, I would love to show you the grounds today,” Lady Button offers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yes, he must see the gardens before the summer’s end,” Fanny says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That would be delightful,” the Captain grits out. He rubs the back of the neck. “Sorry, I must have slept wrong, my neck feels absolutely awful.” His left eyelid begins to droop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Edward gets up from the table, concerned. “Perhaps I should take a look.” He crouches down by the Captain’s chair, gripping his head in his hands. “Captain, can you focus your eyes on me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Captain shakes his head. “Sorry, I can’t seem to- well, everything’s gone a bit blurry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s wrong? What’s happening?” Fanny asks. Thomas is frozen. The other ghosts, including Humphrey and his head, have run in, curious as to the source of the commotion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s going on? What have we missed?” Kitty asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Could be a concussion,” Edward says, turning the Captain’s face from left to right, inspecting him. “Does anybody have a torch?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly, the Captain begins to convulse. He falls forward into Edward’s arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s happening?” Lady Button asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s having a seizure. I think he’s got an <a id="return2" name="return2"></a>aneurysm.<sup>[<a href="#note2">2</a>]</sup> Quickly, someone, get the car, he needs to go to hospital.” Both Lord and Lady Button run to the front door to start the car. <a id="return3" name="return3"></a>Edward kicks the chair out of the way and rolls the Captain onto his side. He rips off his shirt, tearing buttons as he goes, and shoves it under the Captain’s head before desperately pulling at the buttons of the Captain’s own jacket.<sup>[<a href="#note3">3</a>]</sup></span></p>
<p>
  <span>“Aneurysm? What be that?” Mary asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I believe it’s something to do with the brain. Certainly not good,” Fanny replies.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Edward hovers above the Captain, stroking his hair. Thomas kneels behind the Captain. There’s nothing he can do to be helpful, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on love,” Edward murmurs. “Come on, you can do it.” Tears begin to well in Edward’s eyes, and for the first time since he laid eyes on the Captain, Thomas softens toward Edward. He’s not a bad man, really, he’s just… not Thomas. In many ways, he’s probably a better man than Thomas, as Thomas finds himself desperately wishing the Captain doesn’t survive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, the Captain stops seizing. Edward holds two fingers to the Captain’s neck, but the ghosts already know the answer. A white shimmer appears around the Captain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you thinks he’ll stays?” Mary asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hope not,” Robin says. “Seems strict.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh God,” Edward, whispers. He rests his head on the Captain’s chest and lets out a single sob.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Above him, the shimmer continues to form into the shape of the Captain himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lord Button bursts into the room. “I’ve brought the car around, help me lift him.” Lord Button notices Edward on the floor. “Oh, oh dear.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Captain silently looks over the scene with some interest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s gone,” Edward says, dabbing at his eye. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Captain turns around to face the ghosts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m dead, aren’t I?” he asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I’m afraid so,” says Fanny.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh good, I hate it when they don’t know,” Humphrey’s head says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, dear Lord,” the Captain says, noticing Humphrey for the first time. “Who are you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Perhaps we’d better explain,” Fanny says, placing a hand on the Captain’s back. “Let’s come away from here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fanny leads the Captain into the parlour, where the ghosts explain who they are, and why they’re here. Thomas says nothing, just stares at the Captain. He has managed a seat on the sofa right next to him, but he doesn’t dare touch him, or even speak.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, you lot have been here this whole time,” the Captain says, “You’ve been watching me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yes!” Kitty says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” The Captain looks down at his lap, where he is fiddling with his swagger stick. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not the whole time,” Thomas says abruptly. The Captain looks at him for the first time. “We didn’t see much of you after dinner last night,” he continues, “we watched the Bridge game. Didn’t see you again until the morrow.” He shoots a look at the other ghosts. They all begin to clamour in agreement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ohs yes, yes,” Mary says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No see anything,” Robin says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Kitty promises.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, well, alright then,” the Captain says, suddenly cheered. “I say, what’s your name? We weren’t introduced before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thomas Thorne, at your service,” he says brightly. “Romantic poet.” He sticks out his hand for the Captain to shake. The Captain takes it. This time, as he touches the Captain, it doesn’t itch. His touch feels warm in a way that Thomas has not felt in over a century. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, a man of the arts,” the Captain says. “I’ve always been something of a dilettante myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In that case,” Thomas says with a smile, “We are sure to get along.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Edward’s house, August 5th, 1944</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Edward lays perpendicularly across his bed, legs hanging over the side. He’s smoking a cigarette, which he normally never does indoors, but he imagines today is a special occasion. He plays idly with the black Zippo lighter in his hand. He should feel bad, he supposes, for nicking it from the Captain’s bags, but he’s finding it awfully hard to. Besides, there’s no way for anyone to know he’s the one who took it. The lighter is simple, the only decoration the words “</span>
  <em>
    <span>North Africa, 1942</span>
  </em>
  <span>” carved into the side. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The simplicity of it suits him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Edward thinks. It’s nothing like the lighter of Jackie, the American fighter pilot Edward slept with in ‘43. <a id="return4" name="return4"></a>That lighter was beautifully decorated with intricate carvings of every major monument in Paris.<sup>[<a href="#note4">4</a>]</sup></span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I really should feel bad for taking it, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Edward thinks. It wasn’t his to take, just as the Captain wasn’t his. It feels wrong that the Captain’s last night was with Edward, and not with someone he loved, some sweetheart who at least knew the Captain’s name. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s the trouble with war, it robs us of the lives we were meant to have. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Edward flicks the lighter open a few more times before tossing onto the duvet. He takes another drag of his cigarette as he stretches out, wondering if he’ll ever have the kind of love he wishes for the Captain.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The-uh-the-uh-uh-the-that's all folks! Just in case you haven't figured it out by now, I'm ladiesloveduranduran on Tumblr, and I always enjoy new friends. </p>
<p>Yours truly,<br/>Beefmaster</p>
<p>Notes:<br/><a id="note1" name="note1"></a><sup>1</sup>The wheel was actually invented near the beginning of the Bronze age. Perhaps Robin simply witnessed the invention of the wheel when he was a ghost? Or maybe Robin is actually from the Bronze age, he’s just got a retro sense of style. <sup>[<a href="#return1">return to text</a>]</sup></p>
<p><a id="note2" name="note2"></a><sup>2</sup>I am not a doctor, I am not an expert on aneurysms or how they were treated in 1944. This is my best guest based on my limited research. <sup>[<a href="#return2">return to text</a>]</sup></p>
<p><a id="note3" name="note3"></a><sup>3</sup>Based on that same limited research, however, this is how a seizure should be treated: get anything they could injure themselves with out of the way, roll them on their side, put something under their head, and undo buttons/loosen ties/make sure nothing obstructs their breathing. In certain instances, such as if the person has never had a seizure before, you should call emergency services. <sup>[<a href="#return3">return to text</a>]</sup></p>
<p><a id="note4" name="note4"></a><sup>4</sup>Some WWII lighters really were this elaborate! I could tell you more, but it’s better if you see for yourself: http://lightergallery.com/world-war-ii-zippos <sup>[<a href="#return4">return to text</a>]</sup></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Denouement</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"When I am with him, smoking or talking quietly ahead, or whatever it may be, I see, beyond my own happiness and intimacy, occasional glimpses of the happiness of 1000s of others whose names I shall never hear, and know that there is a great unrecorded history." - E.M. Forster</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks as always to the unmatched, unparalleled, and unrelenting anactoriatalksback/itsevidentvery for beta-ing britpicking. I should mention that she has never watched Ghosts so don't blame her for any inconsistencies on that front.</p><p>I just remembered the other day that in April my mom said to me "Elizabeth, you should write historical fiction." At the time I was like "what the fuck are you talking about Mom" but look at me now! My mother would be so proud!</p><p>The annotations on this fic were originally so long I had to cut them down in order to fit in the character limit so get ready to LEARN! If you are curious about the stuff that DIDN’T make it into the notes just let me know, some of that is already in the comment section.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If there is one thing a ghost knows, it’s that time goes on. Lovers get married, children are born, people grow older. And the ghosts of Button House watch it all.</p><p>Lord Button passes away in 1948, and Clarence Button and his wife Agnes move into the Button house to help care for the aging Lady Button. With them comes their 12-year old daughter <a id="return1" name="return1"></a>Heather,<sup>[<a href="#note1">1</a>]</sup> a precocious girl more interested in birds than anything else. In 1950, Lady Button passes, leaving Clarence and Agnes (now Lord and Lady of the manor) the sole owners of Button House.</p><p>Edward Button moves from Guildford to London to work for the newly formed <a id="return2" name="return2"></a>NHS,<sup>[<a href="#note2">2</a>]</sup> and the ghosts see him less and less. He still visits his older brother on occasion, but always alone. For years, Edward doesn’t bed anyone on his visits to Button House. Perhaps it’s out of respect for the Captain, perhaps out of fear of a repeat performance. Thomas almost wishes he would. If Edward were to sleep with another man, perhaps the Captain would be able to move on, to see that pining after Edward was useless.</p><p>As it is, it seems that the Captain treasures Edward’s visits deeply, following him around the way Thomas once followed the Captain. On one such visit, he spent hours watching Edward attempt to learn the score for <a id="return3" name="return3"></a> <em> Kiss Me Kate<sup>[<a href="#note3">3</a>]</sup> </em> on the piano, even singing along with him at times when he thought none of the other ghosts could hear. It was quite frankly embarrassing to watch, and not only because the Captain simply did not possess the range. And yet, Thomas watched the whole thing from his perch on the staircase. Sometimes Thomas sees the Captain pull out Edward’s phone number from his breast pocket just to look at it sadly, then put it away. The whole thing depresses and angers Thomas in equal measure. <em> How is it </em> , he wonders, <em> that even in death Edward has managed to occupy so much of the Captain’s mind? </em></p><p>
  <b>Button House, April 2nd, 1953</b>
</p><p>“I’ve just had a call from Edward,” Clarence says, entering the parlour. Agnes and Heather are engaged in a game of chess, and the ghosts are watching with rapt attention.</p><p>“Don’t tell me he’s going to be late,” Agnes says. </p><p>“No, no, he’ll be right on time. But he’s informed me that he’ll be bringing his <em> flatmate </em>.”</p><p>“Oh my,” says Agnes. “And he waited until the day of to tell us this?”</p><p>“Well, I think he wanted to make sure we couldn’t refuse him.” Clarence sits on the sofa, head in hands.</p><p>“Oh come now, as if you’ve ever refused your brother anything.”</p><p>“I don’t see what the great fuss is,” Heather says, capturing Agnes’ pawn with her knight. “We’ve a million rooms, what harm could one more guest do? It’ll make Easter more fun.” </p><p>“Oh, is it Easter already?” Kitty asks.</p><p>“Yes, Kitty, that’s why the house is covered in colored eggs,” the Captain says.</p><p>“I thought perhaps they were making a festive egg salad.”</p><p>“What I don’t understand,” Heather continues, “Is why a successful doctor would <em> need </em>a flatmate.”</p><p>“He’s so foolhardy,” Clarence rants. “And careless. Has he already forgotten what happened to <a id="return4" name="return4"></a>Turing?”<sup>[<a href="#note4">4</a>]</sup></p><p>“Well,” says Agnes thoughtfully, “perhaps they would be safer here, in the country.”</p><p> </p><p>Edward and his flatmate arrive at 2:30 in Edward’s red motor car. Most of the ghosts watch them from the parlour, but the Captain stands in the drive to greet them, as he always does when Edward arrives. <em> It’s pitiful, really, </em> Thomas thinks. <em> This sort of devotion to a living man. </em>Edward exits from the driver’s side first, and then comes around to open the passenger door. </p><p>“I don’t need your help opening the door,” the man in the passenger seat says crossly, but he still takes Edward’s extended hand and allows Edward to help him out of the car. </p><p>“Uncle Edward!” Heather cries as she runs out to greet him.</p><p>“Niece Heather!” Edward shouts in reply. He wraps his arms around her in a warm embrace. “I want you to meet my flatmate, Harry.”</p><p>Edward’s flatmate is named <a id="return5" name="return5"></a>Harry Newell,<sup>[<a href="#note5">5</a>]</sup> and he’s very handsome. He has soft dark hair and big dark eyes, he is tall, and he is American. He is a painter, and he met Edward at a gallery opening.</p><p>“Your home is gorgeous,” Harry says over tea, “It makes me want to paint so terrifically.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m so glad,” Agnes says, “What sorts of things do you usually paint?”</p><p>“I don’t paint <em> things </em> , exactly,” Harry replies. “Have you ever heard of <a id="return6" name="return6"></a>Abstract Expressionism?”<sup>[<a href="#note6">6</a>]</sup></p><p>“Oh, like Kandinsky? I actually studied art at St. Andrews,” Agnes says proudly.</p><p>“Not quite,” Harry says, not unkindly. “It’s like De Kooning, Rothko. It's more about allowing your inner-most impulses to guide you than about accurately drawing figures.”</p><p>“And what sort of inner-most impulses guide you?” asks Heather. Clarence nearly coughs up his tea.</p><p>“Well that’s part of what makes it so swinging. You don’t exactly know what those impulses are, but they exist inside of you. They’re part of you, you dig?”</p><p>“I suppose so?” Heather says. </p><p>“Well,” says Agnes, sipping her tea, “I think I prefer Kandinsky.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t like him,” the Captain says, later that evening. He has called an emergency meeting of the ghosts in the parlour. “He’s an artist, and not even the proper kind, that paints landscapes, and heroic men. He paints <em> shapes </em>!”</p><p>“I think it be witchcraft,” Mary adds sagely. “Paintings shoulds be of our saviour Jesus, or elses of fine fruits.”</p><p>“No, no,” Robin insists, “paintings should be of big mammoths go aaaaahhh!! And little people go pew pew pew!”</p><p>The conversation quickly devolved into the ghosts arguing over what a proper painting ought to depict. </p><p>“Alright, enough!” Fanny shouts. “I hardly see this conversation becoming productive. Captain, please, why have you brought us here?”</p><p>“Because,” the Captain says, in a voice dangerously close to a whine, “he has to go! He is <em> ruining </em> the peace and sanctity of our home with his turtlenecks and his ghastly accent and his so called <em> art </em>.”</p><p>Thomas cannot believe what he is hearing. How can the Captain disparage this poor boy, who has done nothing wrong, over a silly infatuation with Edward?</p><p>“Well, unfortunately Captain,” Thomas says with some rudeness, “It isn’t really up to us. Harry is staying for the holiday, and there’s nothing to be done.”</p><p>And there really was nothing to be done. Clarence dutifully brings Edward’s luggage to his childhood room, and Harry’s luggage to a guest room, but Mrs. Ackworth has only bothered to make up one bed. Harry spends the night in Edward’s bedroom, and the Captain spends the night on the window seat in the library, wistfully staring out of the window.</p><p>The Captain continues to mope the next morning, skulking around Button House and muttering to himself. He only stops briefly to watch Clarence, Agnes, Edward, and Harry play a game of <a id="return7" name="return7"></a>Canasta<sup>[<a href="#note7">7</a>]</sup> just after lunch.</p><p>“I hardly see how this is interesting,” the Captain complains, standing in the doorway. “Heather has found a starling nest in the garden.” </p><p>“Quiet!” Says Kitty. “It’s Agnes’ turn, and she’s got a <a id="return8" name="return8"></a>canasta!”<sup>[<a href="#note8">8</a>]</sup></p><p>“Well, I can hardly sit here and listen to that <a id="return9" name="return9"></a>hipster<sup>[<a href="#note9">9</a>]</sup> drivel on. I’m going to the garden.”</p><p>“But Harry no speak,” Robin protests, but the Captain is already gone.</p><p> </p><p>Later that afternoon, Fanny approaches Thomas in the library.</p><p>“Thomas, I must speak with you.” </p><p>Thomas sighs. “I’m trying to <em> work, </em>damn you! I’m composing an ode to a laurel bush.”</p><p>Fanny ignores him, and sits next to him on the window seat.</p><p>“You need to speak with the Captain,” she says.</p><p>“About what?”</p><p>“You know very well what. He has been moping about ever since Edward arrived.”</p><p>Thomas straightens his shoulders. “Well, I don’t know what you want <em> me </em>to do about it.” </p><p>Fanny narrows her eyes. “I’m not stupid, you know. I may not approve of it all, but I know who you and the Captain are, and I know what you do. Please, just speak to him before he completely ruins my Easter.” Fanny stands up and leaves the room, leaving Thomas with a lot, as Harry would say, to noodle through.</p><p>The past nine years with the Captain had not been at all like what Thomas had expected. All attempts to woo him had failed miserably, even draping himself sensually across sofas. In fact, Thomas had begun to lose interest in the seduction project entirely. The Captain’s personality, it seemed, was far more grating than Thomas realized. The Captain was bossy, stodgy, and frankly, annoying. Thomas had no idea what he had once seen in the Captain, besides a strong jawline and a broad chest. Still, Thomas supposed, he did owe his former love <em> something </em>. Perhaps a chat with Thomas would allow the Captain to be a bit more reasonable about love.</p><p>Thomas finds the Captain on the grounds in a large field. He sits on a small stone wall, watching Edward and Harry lie in the grass, sharing what appears to be a particularly thick cigarette. Harry is wearing a black beret that even Thomas must admit is a little silly. Thomas stops before the Captain notices him, and listens in on the conversation.</p><p>“You’ve really never had an Easter lamb?” Edward asks, incredulous.</p><p>“No! In America we eat ham on Easter.” Harry takes a big inhale of the cigarette and passes it to Edward. </p><p>“Ham and lamb,” Edward muses. “But lamb just makes <em> sense </em>. Lamb of God, and all that.”</p><p>“Really? You think it makes sense to eat Jesus on Easter?”  Harry wraps his arm around Edward’s waist. “Seems off the wall to me.”</p><p>“Well, you know, body of Christ.” both men burst into laughter at that. Edward rolls onto his side to face Harry, holding the cigarette aloft. Once the laughter subsides, Harry cups Edward’s jaw and pulls him in for a kiss. They kiss for about a minute before Edward breaks away to take another puff of the cigarette.</p><p>“You jerk,” Harry says, swatting playfully at Edward’s shoulder.</p><p>“Sorry love, one must have one’s priorities.” Edward smiles and passes the cigarette to Harry. “Look, if you really don’t like it, you can pretend the lamb is mutton.”</p><p>“Oh, I really can’t stand <a id="return10" name="return10"></a>mutton.<sup>[<a href="#note10">10</a>]</sup> That’s about all they fed us in the service, I’ll never eat it again.”</p><p>“Hmm, well then, it seems you’re simply going to have to suffer,” Edward says, with mock seriousness.</p><p>“Oh darling,” Harry says in a teasing English accent, “I suffer every day I’m with you.” </p><p>Edward laughs at that. He wraps his arm around Harry and pulls him into a kiss. He hooks his hand around the back of Harry’s knee and pulls him on top of him, sending Harry’s beret flying into the grass.</p><p>“Well,” says the Captain resolutely, “I’ve had just about enough of that.” With some effort, he stands up, turns around, and goes pale when he sees Thomas standing behind him.</p><p>“Thomas,” he whispers hoarsely.</p><p>“Hello, Captain,” Thomas says with a small wave. </p><p>“Have you been there long?” </p><p>“Not very,” Thomas lies. </p><p>The Captain sighs, and sits back down on the wall, this time facing Thomas. Thomas sits beside him, but not too close. He scrunches his nose at the skunky smell that permeates the air.</p><p>“I had no idea that Edward was, well…” the Captain trails off.</p><p>“<a id="return11" name="return11"></a>A sodomite?”<sup>[<a href="#note11">11</a>]</sup> Thomas supplies.</p><p>The Captain winces. “Yes, if you want to put so fine a point on it.”</p><p>“Well, Edward has certainly always had certain... <a id="return12" name="return12"></a>Achillean tendencies.”<sup>[<a href="#note12">12</a>]</sup></p><p>“It’s quite shocking. Well, I suppose it's nice to see the boy has found love.”</p><p>“Yes, it seems our Ned has finally settled down.” </p><p>“”Still, I feel young Edward could have done better for himself. Harry seems a bit of a silly man.”</p><p>“Come, now. Is he really that different from yourself? He was a soldier.”</p><p>The Captain scoffs. “He was <em> drafted </em>. Doesn’t count.” </p><p>“He stormed the beaches at Normandy.”</p><p>“Hardly a decisive battle.”</p><p>Thomas has overheard enough radio to know that isn’t true, but he decides to let it slide. He and the Captain sit in silence for a moment.</p><p>“I lied,” the Captain says suddenly. “I did know that Edward was queer. I- the night before I died, we made love.” He turns his face away dramatically.</p><p>“I actually knew that,” Thomas says sheepishly. </p><p>“Oh God.”</p><p>“I watched Edward play piano for you.”</p><p>“So you- you saw us-”</p><p>“Kiss. Yes. But that’s all, when you left I let you be.”</p><p>“Oh, well.” The Captain blushes. “And the others?”</p><p>“Have no inkling,” Thomas lies. “Too wrapped up in the game of Bridge.” </p><p>“Very good.” The Captain looks behind him, where Edward’s head is pillowed on Harry’s chest. “It’s not as if I loved the chap.”</p><p>Thomas nods. “I understand, he was your last.” Thomas remembers his last, a Portuguese woman named Ines with a stern demeanor and a love for snuff. He thinks of her often.</p><p>“It’s just- it’s been nine years,” the Captain says, “since I’ve been touched.”</p><p>The Captain looks so lost, so forlorn, and suddenly Thomas remembers everything about the Captain that he fell for in the first place: his dark blue eyes, the grey at his temple, the little moles on his cheek, his glorious moustache. Without thinking, he reaches out, and places his hand over the Captain’s. </p><p>The Captain looks down at their hands then up at Thomas. He leans forward, ever so slightly, closer to Thomas. Before Thomas can stop himself, he leans forward and kisses the Captain. The Captain makes a surprised noise, but he very quickly gets on board, winding his fingers in Thomas’ curls. Thomas feels a warmth spread through him he hasn’t felt in at least a hundred years. The Captain whimpers into his mouth, and Thomas feels as if he is connected to something far bigger than himself. <em> So here we are, </em> Thomas thinks, <em> four men in a field, hopelessly in love. </em></p><p> </p><p>It’s two in the morning, and Edward can’t sleep.</p><p>“Harry, are you awake?” Edward whispers. </p><p>“No, I’m not,” Harry says petulantly. “Can the lip, and go back to sleep.”</p><p>“Harry, I’m serious, I need to tell you something.”</p><p>Harry rolls over, bringing himself face to face with Edward.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I love you.”</p><p>Harry’s face softens. “This couldn’t have waited?” </p><p>“If I could, I would tell you every minute of every day. I’m never more myself than when I’m with you.”</p><p>“And I’m never more at home than when I’m with you. Now go to sleep, you jerk.” Harry turns over with a huff, but he scooches backwards a bit so Edward can throw his arm around him.</p><p>“Goodnight Edward,” Fanny says from her perch on the chair. “I’m glad to see you’re happy.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Notes:<br/><a id="note1" name="note1"></a><sup>1</sup>Yes, I know Heather was canonically born in1920, but I forgot that when I wrote chapter 1 and now the ages don’t really work for me so I’m changing it. <sup>[<a href="#return1">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note2" name="note2"></a><sup>2</sup>National Health Service, the UK’s national healthcare system, created in 1948.  <sup>[<a href="#return2">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note3" name="note3"></a><sup>3</sup>A very popular 1948 musical with music and lyrics by Edward’s favorite composer, Cole Porter. <sup>[<a href="#return3">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note4" name="note4"></a><sup>4</sup>1953 was a particularly bad year to be gay in England. The Turing Clarence references is Alan Turing, computer scientist and WWII hero, who was arrested for gross indecency after his relationship with another man was discovered in 1952. As punishment, he was injected with synthetic estrogen for a year to reduce his libido. He killed himself two years later in 1954. In the early 1950s, there was a huge push to weed out gay men in goverment jobs, leading to over a thousand British men a year being arrested in the early 50s for “homosexual offences.” <sup>[<a href="#return4">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note5" name="note5"></a><sup>5</sup>Yes, Edward’s boyfriend’s name is Hair Renewal. No, this was not on purpose. <sup>[<a href="#return5">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note6" name="note6"></a><sup>6</sup>Abstract Expressionism was an abstract art movement in post-war America. It never really caught on in the UK (probably because they were very busy recovering from WWII) but we can just ignore that for this fic.<sup>[<a href="#return6">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note7" name="note7"></a><sup>7</sup>Canasta (the Spanish word for basket) is a card game invented in Uruguay in 1939 that became HUGELY popular in the English-speaking world in the 50s. <sup>[<a href="#return7">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note8" name="note8"></a><sup>8</sup>As you might imagine, a very good hand in Canasta. I like to imagine Kitty as being something of a cardshark. <sup>[<a href="#return8">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note9" name="note9"></a><sup>9</sup>The term for Beatniks before the term Beatnik was coined in 1958. In case you haven't picked up on that, that's what Harry is. <sup>[<a href="#return9">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note10" name="note10"></a><sup>10</sup>This is true! The reason that Americans don't eat mutton (adult sheep meat) anymore is that soldiers in WWII were fed a lot of disgusting canned mutton, so when they came home they never wanted to eat it again.<sup>[<a href="#return10">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note11" name="note11"></a><sup>11</sup>If we are to believe Michel Foucault (and in this very particular instance, I do), prior to the Victorian period, homosexuality wasn’t something you were, or something you felt, it was something you did. Homosexual acts were a sin like any other, and like gambling or drinking to excess, anybody could be tempted to commit these acts, although some people were more inclined to temptation than others. The term “sodomy” originally referred to any non-procreative sex act, including anal and oral sex between both same sex and opposite sex couples. It has come to mean sex between two men, most specifically anal sex between two men, although sometimes it can refer to anal sex between a man and a woman. “Sodomite” was probably the closest thing they had in Thomas’ time to a word meaning “homosexual” and it didn’t really mean gay so much as “a person who commits homosexual acts.” The word sodomite very much has a connotation of both sinfulness and illegality. <sup>[<a href="#return11">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note12" name="note12"></a><sup>12</sup>A reference to Achilles and Patroclus. While they aren’t explicitly lovers in the Iliad, ancient Greek writers generally assumed they were. Plato famously claimed that Achilles was the eromenos (more or less the Ancient Greek equivalent of “bottom”) of the relationship, so Thomas might be implying something else about Edward’s sexual preferences. <sup>[<a href="#return12">return to text</a>]</sup></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Interlude</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up<br/>In the morning when the day is new?<br/>And after having spent the day together<br/>Hold each other close the whole night through?"<br/>-"Wouldn't It Be Nice" The Beach Boys</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Fair warning: This chapter is only technically Ghosts fan fiction. It's mostly the story of my two OCs Edward and Harry, as well as a half dozen other OCs. You have been warned.</p><p>It has come to my attention that a good number of Ghosts fans are in fact British (go figure) so I am posting this chapter in the afternoon Chicago time so my friends in the GMT can appreciate it. You're welcome.</p><p>As always, beta'd by the Edward to my Harry, anactoriatalksback/itsevidentvery</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Edward and Harry’s flat, November 16th, 1954</b>
</p><p>
  <span>One day, Edward makes a startling discovery about Harry. The discovery came as these discoveries often do, quite suddenly, on a Tuesday evening, as Harry was telling an anecdote about his friend <a id="return1" name="return1"></a>Gillian<sup>[<a href="#note1">1</a>]</sup> over dinner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s really tuned in, you know? I mean, she doesn’t bow down to the man. But she’s got this horrible job at an art gallery.” Harry gestures with his fork full of beef. “And her boss just hates her because she’s not a square, and she won’t do things the squaresville way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward isn’t really listening. He’s thinking about Harry, and how deep his voice is, how long his eyelashes are, how the edge of his sleeve is hanging in the sauce on his plate. He thinks about how when he points it out, Harry will suck the sauce from his sleeve, and Edward will tell him how disgusting that is, and then Harry will smirk, and tell him how delicious it is, and then attempt to force Edward to lick it himself. That’s when Edward makes the discovery: he wants to spend the rest of his life eating beef Stroganoff sauce off a dirty sleeve if it means spending the rest of his life with Harry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Button House, November 18th, 1954</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Edward!” Agnes says as she opens the door. “We were not expecting you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, sorry, should have phoned ahead. Is Clarence in?” Edward asks, taking his hat off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, he’ll be in his study. What do you need him for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you know, private brotherly business.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Agnes narrows her eyes. “You’re not in trouble are you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, nothing of the sort!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you are, you can tell me, you know.” She looks behind her, and then back at Edward. “We really do want to help in any way we can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I appreciate it Aggie, I really do, but I’m fine. I’ve kept my nose clean and all that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Agnes nods. “Alright, come in then.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Edward enters the study, Clarence jumps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, so sorry,” he says, straightening his reading glasses. “You startled me. What are you doing here?” He frowns. “You’re not in trouble, are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no,” Edward says, exasperated. “Why does everyone think I’m in trouble?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re something of a troublesome chap, Edward. So why are you here then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward runs his finger along the spines of Clarence’s books. “I need Dad’s pocket watch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s mine. He promised it to me when he died.” His finger stops on a copy of<a id="return2" name="return2"></a> </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Catcher in the Rye. </span>
  </em><sup>[<a href="#note2">2</a>]</sup>
  <span>He plucks it from the shelf.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I know it’s yours, but why now? It’s hardly your style.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe I’m thinking of switching it up. Have you read this yet?” he asks, holding the book aloft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, that’s why it’s on my shelf. That pocket watch was a wedding gift from Mum, you know. Very valuable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” Edward flips through the book. “It’s supposed to be quite good. Harry won’t stop raving about it. He’s a voracious reader, reads anything you put in front of him.” Edward smiles to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh Lord.” Clarence puts his head in his hands. “You really are in trouble, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward smirks. “In a sense, yes.” He sits across from Clarence, suddenly serious. “I love him terribly, you know,” he says quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” Clarence rubs his eyes. “It’s at the bank, in a safety deposit box. I’ll get it tomorrow, drop it off at your flat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Clancy. That’s awfully decent of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s yours to do with as you wish.” Both men stand up. “Would you like to stay? We’re having vegetable stew.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish I could, but I can’t.” Edward puts his hat back on his head. “I have to get back to the missus.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Edward and Harry’s Flat, February 22nd, 1955</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward doesn’t give Harry the pocket watch right away. He’s waiting for the perfect time. His opportunity comes the next year, when Harry asks him to come to California with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d like you to come to California with me,” he says very suddenly. The two of them are sitting on the sofa in their flat. Edward has been reading a newspaper, and Harry appears to have been reading<a id="return3" name="return3"></a> </span>
  <em>
    <span>Go Tell It On The Mountain</span>
  </em>
  <span><sup>[<a href="#note3">3</a>]</sup>, but it’s clear that he’s mostly been thinking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know you were going to California,” Edward says, lowering his newspaper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got a letter from my mother this morning, she wants me to come visit, maybe in June? We could use a holiday, and I haven’t been home in ages.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward nods thoughtfully. “I suppose that’s true. Have you been home at all since I met you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry shakes his head. “No, and they’re terrifically upset about it. I missed my sister Martha’s wedding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward puts his feet in Harry’s lap and leans on the sofa’s arm. “You don’t talk much about your family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry shrugs. “Not much to tell. I’ve got three younger sisters, two parents, and I grew up on one farm.” He massages Edward’s feet. “Come on, I’ve seen your ancestral home. Wouldn’t you like to see mine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I would, love, but a short trip to the country’s a bit different than a flight to America. Harder to explain.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is the worst part about aging,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Edward thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>More and more men my age are married, and fewer and fewer are going on long trips with their friends from university. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, but you’ve never been to the States. It’ll be an adventure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I have been to the States,” Edward says petulantly. <a id="return4" name="return4"></a>“1948, San Antonio<sup>[<a href="#note4">4</a>]</sup>. I saw the Alamo. And met a rather dashing cowboy named Bo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry rolls his eyes. “I’m not counting that. Besides, you’ve never been to California. It’s the best place in the whole world, I promise you. Let’s get out of this crumby country.” Harry’s hand creeps up the back of Edward’s calf. “Besides, I don’t want to go without you,” he adds quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward reaches his foot up and brushes his big toe against Harry’s nose, reveling in the disgusted face he makes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I’ll go with you, dear. But how do you plan on explaining my presence to your parents?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think saying you’re my friend will suffice. We’ll tell them you’re a wine connoisseur, that you were dying to come. And if that’s not good enough for them, that’s their problem.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward furrows his brow. “Why would I be a wine connoisseur?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have I never told you? My parents own a vineyard.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Northern California, June 3rd, 1955</b>
</p><p>
  <span>They rent a car at the San Francisco airport, and Edward insists on a convertible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re in California, Harry,” he says. “I want to feel like a movie star.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re in </span>
  <em>
    <span>Northern</span>
  </em>
  <span> California,” Harrys complains, but he dutifully rents a turquoise 1955 Ford Thunderbird.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry drives them north through San Francisco. They take the long way, because Harry wants Edward to see everything: the city, the ocean, the Golden Gate Bridge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>California is beautiful in a way that Edward has never seen before. It’s green and blue and brown all at once, with rolling hills and a cloudless sky. Edward knew Harry had grown up on a farm, but he had never imagined it like </span>
  <em>
    <span>this. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s gorgeous,” Edward breathes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know I am, sweetheart, but maybe look at the scenery, hm?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry’s parents are very excited to meet Edward. It seems their enthusiasm over having a real-life European wine expert at their vineyard outweighs any misgivings they may have over their son bringing home a man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>must</span>
  </em>
  <span> try some of our wine,” says Minnie Newell, about five minutes after Edward arrives. <a id="return5" name="return5"></a>"Napa Valley has the best wine in the world!”<sup>[<a href="#note5">5</a>]</sup></span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Minnie, give him a minute,” Ernest tells his wife. “Let him put his suitcase down, then we’ll give him the wine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward does manage to put his suitcase down and even take his hat off before a glass of Chardonnay is shoved in his face. Edward makes a big show of sniffing the wine, swirling it around in the glass before taking a sip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Delicious,” he announces. <a id="return6" name="return6"></a>“I’m tasting notes of… apple?”<sup>[<a href="#note6">6</a>]</sup></span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!” Ernest exclaims. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so glad you like it,” Minnie says. “Alright boys, go wash up. We’ll let you taste the <a id="return7" name="return7"></a>Cabernets<sup>[<a href="#note7">7</a>]</sup> at dinner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a delicious dinner of steak, potatoes, and more Cabernet Sauvignon than Edward has ever drank in his life, Edward is barely able to stand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, who’s ready for dessert?” Minnie asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll have to take a rain check, Mom,” Harry says. “We’re a bit jet-lagged.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward attempts to nod in agreement, and he almost slides out of his chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we’ll just have to pick back up tomorrow!” Ernest says cheerfully. “Harry, we really are glad you came home,” he adds seriously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know Dad,” Harry says, somewhat tersely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We love you,” Minnie adds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you too. If you’ll excuse me, I have to get this one to bed.” Harry helps Edward up from his chair, and guides him up the stairs, an arm around his waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steady on, Neddy,” he whispers, “we’re almost there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He brings Edward to his sister Dolores’ room. He divests Edward of his clothes, and changes him into his pajamas, while Edward does his drunken best to cooperate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like your parents,” he slurs. “They’re v-very friendly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, they seem to like you. Lift your arms, will you?” Edward complies, and Harry removes his shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should love to meet your ssssisters,” Edward says, then hiccups. “Do they live near?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dolores and Martha live in the Bay, but Joan lives in Sacramento. They’re all coming for dinner tomorrow, you’ll meet them then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, all so close.” Edward steadies himself on Harry’s shoulders as Harry buttons his nightshirt. “And yet you live so far away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Harry says sadly. “I love Napa, but, well, there was an incident, when I was 27. A young man named Julio. I think I rather embarrassed my poor parents.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward gasps. “An ex-boyfriend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something like that. I had to decide which would hurt them worse, their only son moving away, or everyone in town knowing their son was a <a id="return8" name="return8"></a>fag.”<sup>[<a href="#note8">8</a>]</sup></span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward frowns. “Don’t say that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s what we are, isn’t it?” Harry opens the covers, and pats the bed. “Come on, get in bed, Daddy-o.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your parents love you,” Edward says, as he gets into bed. “And I love you too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry smiles, and kisses Edward on the forehead. “And I love you, you square.” He sits on the bed a moment, watching Edward. “I don’t regret my decision, you know. Coming to London’s the best thing I ever did,” he whispers, but Edward’s already asleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next day, Ernest insists Harry take Edward on a tour of the vineyard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad, it’s just grapes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The finest grapes in the world!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would love to see the grapes,” Edward interjects. “They sound delightful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Harry takes Edward on a brief tour of the vineyard. Edward finds it difficult to pay attention, too distracted by the heavy weight of a watch in his pocket. Eventually, they come to a clearing far from the house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And this,” Harry says, collapsing on the ground, “Is where I bring all my boyfriends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh I see, I’m just another conquest to you,” Edward says, sitting down beside Harry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly,” Harry says, as he pulls Edward in for a kiss. “God, I missed kissing you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s been 23 hours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I could hardly stand it.” Harry runs his thumb over Edward’s cheekbone. “California suits you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps I’ll get a tan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You would look even more dashing.” Harry pulls a joint out of his pocket. “I’ve brought some reefer, if you’d like. Found it in Martha’s dresser.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I’ll refrain,” Edward says, “if your family is going to force more wine on me tonight, then I should like to stay entirely sober for now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry snorts. “You can say no to them, you know.” He puts the joint back into his pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure that I can.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry laughs. He leans back on his elbows, face tilted toward the sky. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s so beautiful, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Edward thinks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got something for you,” Edward says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, a present. Let me see, what is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Patience, patience,” Edward says. He pulls out the pocket watch and places it into Harry’s hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry gives Edward a puzzled look. “It’s.. lovely,” he says, “but a bit old-fashioned. I mean, I’ve got a wristwatch, old man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very funny. It was my father’s, see?” he turns the watch over in Harry’s hands. On the back is inscribed ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>to Robert, from Margaret, with love.</span>
  </em>
  <span>’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Edward, I can’t accept this.” He tries to hand the watch back. “It’s too valuable, besides, it belongs to your family-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are my family,” Edward insists, closing Harry’s hand around the watch. “I’m giving you this because I can’t give you a ring.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Edward,” Harry breathes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are the most brilliant, most talented, most humorous, and most handsome man I have ever met,” Edward says, “and I should like to spend the rest of eternity by your side. Consider this but a small token of my affection for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh Neddy,” Harry gasps, “I’ve never wanted anything more than I want to be with you.” He wraps his arms tightly around Edward’s neck and kisses him. “I’ll keep it forever, and when I die, bury me with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I promise,” Edward says, then groans as Harry’s hands start working at his flies.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We should go in soon,” Harry says later, looking at his wristwatch. “My sisters are probably already here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm,” Edward hums, rubbing his face against Harry’s chest. Harry’s hands are carding through his hair, and it’s the most delightful feeling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re like a big cat.” He scratches Edward behind the ear. “Here, kitty, kitty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you’re making fun, but that does feel nice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on.” He pushes Edward unceremoniously off his lap. “We’re going inside.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They don’t even make it all the way inside before being accosted by Harry’s sisters. The three women are waiting for them on the porch, and they run out to greet them as soon as they come into view.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry!” one of them shouts, wrapping her arms around Harry. The other two join in, forming a big group hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok, ok, off me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But we haven’t seen you in four years!” one of them complains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you missed my wedding,” another one, presumably Martha, pouts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I sent you a slow cooker!” Harry protests. Probably-Martha looks unimpressed. “I know, I know, and I’m sorry, but I want you to meet Edward. Edward, this is Dolores, Joan, and Martha.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three women turn to stare bug-eyed at Edward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you do?” Edward says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my God, his accent!” Joan squeals. “Sorry, I’ve never met a real English person before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s so handsome,” The woman who is in fact Martha says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you do?” Dolores asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For a living, what do you do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a doctor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What kind?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“GP.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you make good money?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span><a id="return9" name="return9"></a>“£4,100 a year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dolores turns to Harry. “What is that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About $15,000, I think.”<sup>[<a href="#note9">9</a>]</sup></span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dolores nods. “Good. I approve then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Dolores, we were all on the edge of our seats.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t let you be with just anybody,” Martha insists, “you’re our brother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keep it down, will you?” Harry says. “Our parents are just inside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They can’t hear us,” Joan says dismissively. “Besides, they’re not as bad as you think. They’ve forgiven you, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, but I don’t think I did anything that really needed forgiving.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three sisters have nothing to say to that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m just glad to hear that you’re happy!” Martha says finally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like to think he’s very happy,” Edward says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps you can keep him out of trouble as well. And keep his clothes clean.” Dolores licks her thumb and rubs at a stain on Harry’s collar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, alright, are you done harassing me yet? Where are your husbands? Dolores, don’t you have daughters to look after?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re inside,” Martha says. “We told them we needed sibling time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And Shirley and Barbara are with Stanley,” Dolores adds. “That’s the whole </span>
  <em>
    <span>point</span>
  </em>
  <span> of having a husband. Would you like to meet your nieces?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m dying to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have a husband,” Joan says. “Edward, do you have a brother?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do, but I’m afraid he has a wife.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn. Well, if that changes, let me know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Edward, have you had our family wine yet?” Dolores asks. “I’d love to hear your thoughts on how it compares to the French. Ours tends to be a bit more-fruit forward, you’ll notice, which personally I prefer.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have tried it. It was delicious, but I don’t think-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, Edward didn’t come all the way to America to drink wine,” Joan says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, I think I might rather like a break from-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’ll want something a bit more New World,” Joan continues. “Edward, have you ever had tequila?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Edward and Harry’s flat, January 20th, 2001</b>
</p><p>
  <span>When Edward dies, it falls to his niece Heather to clean out his flat. It’s going to take at least two weekends, she figures: Edward and Harry were always far more interested in accumulating than they were in getting rid. Most of it will have to be sold, and she’ll have to get an appraiser in to deal with some of Harry’s paintings. The closet full of leisure suits should probably be burned. In fact, there’s only a few things she wants to keep: some photo albums, a signed copy of <a id="return10" name="return10"></a></span>
  <em>
    <span>Meditations in an Emergency, </span>
  </em>
  <span><sup>[<a href="#note10">10</a>]</sup>and a carpet purchased on a trip to Istanbul in 1967. She would like to keep Edward’s piano, but the logistics of it give her a headache. Perhaps she’ll simply gift it to whoever she sells the flat to. She finds an American war metal in a desk drawer, which she plans to ship to Harry’s sister Joan in America. In the drawer below that there’s a peeling black lighter that reads “</span>
  <em>
    <span>North Africa, 1942</span>
  </em>
  <span>”. She doesn’t remember Harry having served in Africa, but she supposes she ought to ship that to Joan as well, just in case.  Mostly, it’s just a lot of</span>
  <em>
    <span> stuff</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the detritus of nearly 50 years of living. Despite all the stuff she </span>
  <em>
    <span>has</span>
  </em>
  <span> found, she can’t seem to find the thing she’s looking for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where is it?” she mutters to herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is she looking for?” Harry asks, phasing through the bedroom wall to observe Heather.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Edward says crossly, surveying Heather’s ‘sell’ pile. “She can’t really mean to sell all of your books.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s she going to do with them? They’re all junk.” He points to a paperback copy of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bridget Jones’s Diary</span>
  </em>
  <span> with the front cover ripped off. “Look at this one, it’s torn to pieces.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I kept them,” Edward says haughtily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, but you’re a stubborn old man who can’t bear to throw anything out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It must be here,” Heather says, “He wouldn’t have sold it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think she’s looking for this?” Harry asks, pulling his pocket watch out of his cardigan pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She might be. She certainly won’t find it here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not? What did you do with it? The real one, I mean.” Harry narrows his eyes. “You didn’t lose it, did you? Edward, I swear-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not, you nit, I buried you with it.” Edward places a hand over his heart. “I’m offended you’d think differently.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh Edward,” Harry says, “you shouldn’t have. It’s a family heirloom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, and you’re my family.” Edward puts his arms around Harry’s neck, holding him close. “I meant what I said. I want to spend the rest of eternity with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry smiles. “And you will, you old fart.” He looks around. “I just hope whoever she sells to repaints. I can’t spend the rest of eternity with an olive green kitchen, I just can’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You chose the color.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In 1974, Edward. People change.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, what’s this?” Heather says. She pushes aside a shelf of records to reveal a small broom closet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I forgot we had that closet,” Edward says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well of course you did, you had your records in front of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>My</span>
  </em>
  <span> records? I see an awful lot of Paul Simon on there, and you know I could never stand that man-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their bickering is interrupted by the scraping sound of Heather forcing the door open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aha!” she says. “It has to be in here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the closet is an assortment of canvases, leaning against the back wall. Most of them seem to be unfinished, good ideas that were never fully realized. Heather begins to rifle through them, and when she comes to the last one, she stops.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There you are, beautiful,” she says, and pulls the painting out. It’s bright, colorful, and vague, all the hallmarks of a Harry Newell painting. In the center of the canvas sits what appears to be an old English manor house. Heather turns it over to inspect it further, and reads the writing etched on the back: </span>
  <em>
    <span>For Edward: I’m never more at home than when I’m with you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>As always, thank you for coming. Please collect your hats and coats and make your way to the door.   </p><p>If you'd like to discuss wine, Mad Men, or how Brexit has affected the Pound Sterling, please hit me up on Tumblr at ladiesloveduranduran. Or we could discuss Ghosts, I guess.</p><p>Notes:<br/><a id="note1" name="note1"></a><sup>1</sup>Perhaps Gillian Ayres, the closest thing the UK had to an Abstract Expressionist (“perhaps” fuck you Elizabeth. You wrote the fic. It’s Gillian Ayres). <sup>[<a href="#return1">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note2" name="note2"></a><sup>2</sup>J.D. Salinger, 1951. The greatest book ever written! About a traumatized young man who is, amongst other things, bizarrely obsessed with the gay subculture of 1940s New York. <sup>[<a href="#return2">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note3" name="note3"></a><sup>3</sup>James Baldwin, 1953. Baldwin's first novel, a semi-autobiographical story about growing up in Harlem in the 1930s, and his relationship to his family and the Pentecostal Church. In other words, the story of a queer childhood taking place at around the same time as Harry’s queer childhood. <sup>[<a href="#return3">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note4" name="note4"></a><sup>4</sup>If you are going to the US for the first time, I would not recommend San Antonio. If your cowboy fetish is that severe, at least go to Austin or something. <sup>[<a href="#return4">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note5" name="note5"></a><sup>5</sup>California wines didn't have the international reputation they have today until the late 1970s. However as anyone who has ever met someone from California could tell you, it's not hard to believe Minnie would make this claim in 1955. <sup>[<a href="#return5">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note6" name="note6"></a><sup>6</sup>Typical of Napa Valley Chardonnays, French Chardonnays tend to be more citrusy. All Chardonnays, however, are disgusting. <sup>[<a href="#return6">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note7" name="note7"></a><sup>7</sup>Cabernet Sauvignon is probably the wine Napa Valley is best known for these days. <sup>[<a href="#return7">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note8" name="note8"></a><sup>8</sup>This word, used as a homophobic slur, is very much an Americanism. However, Edward would still know what Harry means by it. <sup>[<a href="#return8">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note9" name="note9"></a><sup>9</sup>These numbers might be TOTALLY inaccurate so take them with a grain of salt. Couldn't find what doctors in the UK made in the 50s, but $15,000 was the median wage for doctors in the US in 1960, so I chose that for Edward's wage in 1955, which is about $144k now, which is about 110k pounds now (RIP the pound), which would have been about 4,100 pounds in 1955. In 1950, the average yearly wage for a UK worker was just over 100 pounds, so this would be very good money. <sup>[<a href="#return9">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note10" name="note10"></a><sup>10</sup>Frank O'Hara, 1957. Frank O'Hara was a gay Abstract Expressionist poet and I think Harry would have very much enjoyed him. The Mad Men fans in the audience will remember Don Draper himself was also an O'Hara fan. <sup>[<a href="#return10">return to text</a>]</sup></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Finale</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Captain and Thomas reflect on their relationship (and also make out).</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The final chapter! Many thanks as always to anactoriatalksback/itsevidentvery, best of betas and best of women.</p><p>This is definitely the sexiest chapter, unless of course you're turned on by descriptions of first aid, in which case chapter 3 is the chapter for you.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Button House, September 24th, 2019</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Post’s here,” Mike calls out, tearing open the seal on an envelope.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything good?” Alison asks. She’s seated at the kitchen table, looking through a very large book.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe,” Mike says slowly, scanning the letter. <a id="return1" name="return1"></a>
“It’s from a woman named Jóhanna Egilsdóttir<sup>[<a href="#note1">1</a>]</sup>, she’s claiming to be Heather Button’s half niece.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like a scam,” Alison says without looking up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably right, I’ll bin it. What are you looking at?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Photo albums. I found them in a trunk in Heather’s old room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah? That’s cool.” Mike sits down next to Alison to get a better look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Photography!” Fanny says from the next room. She marches into the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I think it’s of your family,” Alison says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s that? The Edwardian one?” Mike asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Fanny.” Alison turns to the next page. “Oh look, there she is! That one right there!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike looks at the photograph. “Oh wow,” he says, “that’s quite the hairdo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can hear you, you know,” Fanny says, affronted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s this?” Mike asks, pointing to a picture of a well-dressed blond man in his forties.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My youngest, Major James Button. Served in both World Wars, highly decorated.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike nods as Alison relays this information to him. “He’s a good looking guy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, are we looking at photographs?” Kitty asks, poking her head through the kitchen wall. “I love photographs! I’ve always wanted one done of myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pretty soon, a whole cadre of ghosts have gathered around the kitchen table, listening to Fanny explain the photos, and occasionally chiming in with their own memories. Alison dutifully translates everything for Mike. They look at Robert and Margaret on a seaside holiday, James’ wedding photo, Edward’s first Christmas, Clarence in his naval uniform.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hate to be the one to say it, but I feel I simply must,” Julian says, “these photos are quite boring. Do we have anything more modern? Or, perhaps in the opposite direction, more, well, biblical?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, the one that be reds!” Mary says, pointing to a photo album that looks newer than the rest. Alison pulls it out from the pile, and opens it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, whoever did this one had atrocious handwriting,” Alison says, running her finger over a caption that probably reads “San Francisco, June 1955,” but looks more like “Su Frucso,  Jnv 145S.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Edward,” Fanny and Thomas say at the same time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He always had despicable penmanship,” Thomas explains. “I watched him write quite a few letters.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When Edward died, Heather got most of his personal effects,” Pat says. “I suppose he wasn’t too much of a scrapbooker.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Indeed, the order of the photos seems to have been chosen completely at random, jumping around in time and place from one page to another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I like this one,” Alison says, pointing to a picture of a man in a striped sweater standing in front of a large canvas. Even though he’s indoors, he’s wearing sunglasses and smoking a cigarette. The caption reads either “Harry, in his studio, September 1957,” or else “Herny, ih hs stadro, Sytnbr HS7.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait a minute, I’ve seen this painting,” Mike says, pulling the album closer to himself. “Yeah, for sure. My sister has a print of it. It’s in the Tate Modern. The painting, not the print,” he explains. “That’s in her flat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who is this?” Alison asks. The ghosts are silent for a moment, until eventually Thomas speaks up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s Harry, Edward’s paramour.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They lived together until Harry died in 1999,” Pat adds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s very romantic,” Kitty says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow,” Alison says, “So Fanny, your grandson was-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Homosexual, yes,” Fanny says. “And an excellent pianist,” she adds proudly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s debatable,” Thomas mutters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Captain sleep with Edward,” Robin says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Alison says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thomas clears his throat. “It’s a bit of a sensitive subject, so if you wouldn’t mind-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, the night before he died!” Kittys says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shame to have missed that,” Julian says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone behind them clears their throat. The ghosts and Alison all turn around to see the Captain standing in the doorway. He is standing at attention, his arms behind his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are we all quite through gossiping?” he asks pointedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Captain, I’m so sorry!” Kitty says. “I forgot it was meant to be secret.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well then,” the Captain says, going slightly pink in the ears, “I suppose I must be making my rounds. Cheerio.” He turns sharply on his heel and walks away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Captain, wait,” Thomas pleads, then runs after him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Found him!” Mike announces, holding up his iPhone. “Harry Newell, American-born English painter, 1923-1999. Glad we solved that mystery.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thomas finds the Captain in the room that once belonged to Edward, sitting rigidly on the bed. Fanny sleeps here now, but traces of Edward remain in the graffiti scratched into the headboard and the faded </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cimarron</span>
  </em>
  <span> poster still on the wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Captain,” Thomas says cautiously, “my sweet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Captain snorts. “Don’t give me that romantic dribble. I’m not your</span>
  <em>
    <span> boyfriend</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he says derisively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he’s right. Their relationship hasn’t actually been the fairy-tale love story Thomas had pictured when he first kissed the Captain. Their relationship was closer to what Thomas would describe as “occasional innamoratos” and what Alison would describe as “friends with benefits.” Every few years, one of them would decide that the loneliness had become untenable, or else would become desperate for human touch, or would simply become unbearably horny after Heather had put on a particularly sensual episode of<a id="return2" name="return2"></a>
</span>
  <em>
    <span> Coronation Street.</span>
  </em><sup>[<a href="#note2">2</a>]</sup> 
  <span>When this happened, the offending party would sneak into the other’s room at night, and they would wordlessly fall into each other’s arms. This would last anywhere from a week to a few months <a id="return3" name="return3"></a>(once notably, they managed to stay together from September 1st, 1985 to January 22nd, 1986).<sup>[<a href="#note3">3</a>]</sup> Eventually, though, something would happen to remind them of all the things that annoyed them about each other: the Captain would launch into a boring diatribe on the superiority of <a id="return4" name="return4"></a> Christie suspension to a leaf spring suspension,<sup>[<a href="#note4">4</a>]</sup> Thomas would fling himself into the lake in a fit of dramatics. This would culminate in a huge fight, where they each swore to never touch the other again. Of course, a year or two later, the Captain would remember the feeling of Thomas’ lips around his cock, or Thomas would catch sight of the Captain bent over, and the whole process would begin again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All this to say that the Captain was right, Thomas wasn’t his boyfriend. But considering that the Captain had utterly ravished him on the floors of the gatehouse just days ago, he didn’t think he was completely out of line for using a pet name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If all I can expect from you is such wounding cruelty, I shall leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If all I can expect from you is such traitorous disloyalty, perhaps you should,” the Captain shoots back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t tell them!” Thomas whines. He kneels in front of the Captain, placing his hands in the Captain’s lap. “Please, love, you must believe me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then how did they know?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thomas hesitates. He traces a little pattern on the Captain’s thigh with his index finger. The Captain doesn’t stop him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Thomas begins, “I may have lied before about that night. You see, while it was just I who watched you and Edward at the piano, we were later joined in the boudoir by Mary, Kitty, and Robin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And Humphrey and Fanny?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure they knew what you two were doing. But darling,” Thomas grabs the Captain’s hand, “I didn’t tell Pat and Julian, I swear this to you.” He kisses the Captain’s knuckles. “Please, you must believe me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I believe you. Please, stop grovelling.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thomas gets up off the floor and sits next to the Captain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So they all know. That I’m well, a homosexual.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thomas wraps his arm around the Captain’s shoulder, and begins playing with the hair at the Captain’s temple. The Captain rests his head on Thomas’ shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And they’ve never treated you any differently, have they?” Thomas whispers. The Captain nods, then groans as Thomas fondles his earlobe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop it, you,” he says, batting at Thomas’ hand. “I know exactly what it is you want, and you shan’t have it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The thing is, Captain, I have very good reason to suspect I will.” Thomas brings the Captain’s mouth towards his, and the Captain gasps as Thomas kisses him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve always loved the beautiful sounds you make,” Thomas whispers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thomas lays the Captain back against the headboard, and kisses the line of his jaw. The Captain wraps one leg around the back of Thomas’ thigh, and Thomas slides his hand between the Captain’s legs. Thomas is about to go for the Captain’s flies when the Captain pushes him away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thomas, wait,” the Captain says breathlessly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, darling?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do they know? The others? About us?” The Captain pushes a curl out of Thomas’ face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, of course not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.” He unties Thomas’ cravat and begins working on the buttons of his waistcoat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, except for Humphrey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Captain’s hands still. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You remember, in ‘74, I think, we thought we were alone in the drawing room, but Humphrey’s head was under a chair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yes, right. Well, he wouldn’t tell anyone.” The Captain returns to the task of undressing Thomas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And Kitty, and Mary,” Thomas says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Captain falls back, covering his face with his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They overheard me composing a poem for you! I had to explain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thomas…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I swore them to secrecy. I really don’t think they would tell. I’m so sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, it’s alright.” He pulls Thomas down beside him. Thomas places his head on the Captain’s chest. “Besides, I did once accidentally let it slip to Julian.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thomas gasps. “You scoundrel!” Then thoughtfully, “Oh, I think Fanny knows. Certain things she’s said to me, well, I would be shocked if she didn’t at least suspect.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, and Robin and Pat must know too. Their rooms are on either side of yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With the amount of noise you make, I wouldn’t be surprised.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Captain playfully tugs at Thomas’ curls. “Right, that’s enough from you. If you mention it again, I shall have to thrash your bottom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that a promise?” Thomas asks, propping himself up to look at the Captain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s it then.” The Captain rolls Thomas over, pinning his arms above his head. Thomas breathes heavily, arching his back to bring his crotch into contact with the Captain’s. The Captain, however, is not swayed. “So they all know then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wonder why they never said anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Thomas blushes, “They could hardly have been surprised.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” He places a kiss to Thomas’s collarbone as Thomas squirms beneath him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It may be possible that I was somewhat enamored with you when I first saw you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” The Captain releases Thomas’ hands, and sits up on his lap. “You mean before I died?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. To tell you the truth I was quite taken by you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve never told me this before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It hardly seemed relevant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thomas, <a id="return5" name="return5"></a>we’ve been fucking<sup>[<a href="#note5">5</a>]</sup> for the past 66 years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It never came up!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, alright. So it was love at first sight then.” The Captain leans down and whispers in Thomas’ ear. “And what about now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I still love you, my sweet man,” Thomas whispers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, yes, until next week.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I always love you, but sometimes I cannot bear to look upon your countenance.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, and sometimes I can’t stand the sight of your face.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you love me?” Thomas asks. It’s a vulnerable question, something Thomas has managed to avoid asking for the 75 years since he met the Captain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Captain climbs off of Thomas’ lap, and gently settles himself on the bed next to Thomas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We aren’t soulmates,” he says finally. “We aren’t Edward and Harry, you know? I don’t mean to hurt you, dear, but if I had to choose someone to spend eternity with, it wouldn’t be you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nor I you. I would love to spend eternity with my dear Alison.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I would have chosen Laurence Olivier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The actor? Handsome chap, he- well, I suppose you wouldn’t know him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I suppose I wouldn’t.” Thomas shifts over to see the Captain better. “You didn’t answer my question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you love me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yes, I suppose, in my own way, I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thomas smiles,and kisses the Captain gently on the forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, if you’re quite done with all the romantic nonsense,” the Captain says, “I shan’t be satisfied until you take me in a manly fashion. Hop to it, soldier!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes sir!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s that sound?” Alison asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that’ll be Thomas and the Captain,” Pat says. “Happens from time to time, we find it best to ignore it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And they’re-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep, I’m afraid so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Captain’s a rather noisy fellow, isn’t he?” Julian says. “He sounds rather like the <a id="return6" name="return6"></a>MP from Bosworth,<sup>[<a href="#note6">6</a>]</sup> why I remember he-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait a minute,” Kitty interrupts, “where is that sound coming from?” Alison and the ghosts listen quietly for a minute, trying to triangulate the exact source of the sound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good lord!” Fanny shrieks. “My room!”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The end.</p><p>Thank you so much for reading! I've loved all the wonderful comments y'all have left, feel free to leave me more. You haven't heard the last of old Beefmaster, I've got a couple of other Ghosts fics in the works, including (gasp) an alternate version of Chapter 5 of this fic. </p><p>If you enjoyed this, please come say hi on Tumblr at ladiesloveduranduran, or you can call me toll-free at 1-800-GOT-BEEF</p><p>Notes:<br/><a id="note1" name="note1"></a><sup>1</sup>And you thought my note from chapter 1 about English soldiers fathering Icelandic children was a throwaway fact. Well, in fact, it is. Johanna has no bearing on this story. <sup>[<a href="#return1">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note2" name="note2"></a><sup>2</sup>Long-running British soap opera. According to Ash, my illustrious beta, Coronation Street is decidedly unsexy, but that’s what makes this funny. <sup>[<a href="#return2">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note3" name="note3"></a><sup>3</sup>Not that it matters, but Thomas and the Captain reunited the day the wreck of the Titanic was found and broke up on the day of the Challenger explosion. <sup>[<a href="#return3">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note4" name="note4"></a><sup>4</sup>Parts of WWII tank design. <sup>[<a href="#return4">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note5" name="note5"></a><sup>5</sup>Yes, the Captain is the height of decorum on the show, but I think that might be in part because he’s in mixed company. In private, I imagine the profanity that runs rampant in the military might slip out. Also Ash said I could say fuck. <sup>[<a href="#return5">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note6" name="note6"></a><sup>6</sup>The MP from Bosworth in the 90s was a man named David Tredinnick. Normally I would hate to disparage real, living people in my fan fiction, but Tredinnick is a Boris Johnson supporter who apparently once claimed that blood doesn’t clot under a full moon, so I don’t feel too bad. <sup>[<a href="#return6">return to text</a>]</sup></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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